Resolution 12 of 12
by mccoylover
Summary: This Jack and Brooke story begins with McCoy's Ex asking for a favor that could become problematic for both the new DA and Judge Donnelly.
1. July 19th

_Just a bit of explanation for anyone that hasn't read my stories before. Although this story starts out with its focus on SVU character Judge Elizabeth Donnelly and events from the SVU episode _Persona_, rest assured it won't be long before the focus shifts to DA Jack McCoy and events from the Mothership's current season. There are also references to events from my last LandO story (_Redemption_) and a few original characters play important roles in this story (the like Suffolk County EADA I married Jack off to in a previous story). Hope you enjoy and, as always, everything L and __O belongs to Dick. This story is for fun, not profit of any kind._

Once the elevator doors opened, Judge Elizabeth Donnelly purposefully strode towards the hallway that led to the office of the District Attorney for New York county.

Over the years, Donnelly had found it to be a rare Saturday morning that her former husband couldn't be found working out the kinks of one case or another in his office at One Hogan Place. As she walked past the reception desk Donnelly abruptly stopped. Although the tenth floor had appeared to be deserted, the sudden sound of voices that came from behind the door that stood slightly ajar, assured the Judge that her instincts hadn't been wrong.

"You know, you wouldn't be committing a crime if you just didn't show up. In fact, after what that man did to you, you might just be avoiding committing one."

"I'm not about to let Donald Shalvoy think he's intimidated me into hiding," Donnelly heard McCoy's raspy voice impatiently respond, as she gently tapped on the door before joining her ex-husband and his current wife standing, who were face to face as they verbally went toe to toe in a conflict Donnelly was all too familiar with.

"Jack, this isn't about showing that scumbag how tough you are. This is about choosing your battles and avoiding conflict until the time is right for you to nail that son of a bitch."

"Actually your daughter would second that opinion, for all the good it would do," Donnelly remarked as the pair turned towards her. "Let's face it Brooke, Jack McCoy isn't exactly known for walking softly and carrying a big stick."

"All three of you are over thinking the whole thing," McCoy impatiently retorted as he moved towards on the clothing rack at the back of his office. "They'll be thousands of people at this ground breaking. I doubt Shalvoy and I will even lay eyes on each other."

"God you're a stubborn man," the auburned haired woman beside him murmured under before reaching for the brown shoulder bag on the end of his desk. "If I didn't have work to do in Islip this morning, I'd be equally as stubborn and go out Westchester County with you," she continued after picking up the bag and turning to Donnelly. "I tried the guilt card...you know… I told Jack now that he's a grandfather, he's a role model all over again, so he should skip this macho bullshit in White Plains and spend the day with his grandson. Maybe as Grandma you'll get further with that argument than I did."

"If he listens to me as much as he did when we were married, I wouldn't count on anything changing Brooke," Donnelly shrewdly remarked as McCoy and his wife exchanged quick pecks, while McCoy shot Donnelly a sardonic smirk. "But I'm willing to try."

"I'm afraid you're going to be disappointed if you came all the way across town just to see me about Shalvoy," McCoy began after the door closed and reached for one of several striped ties resting on the rack.

Instead of firing off another retort, Donnelly chose to turn her back on him and move to study the small collection of mementos and photographs that sat on the cluttered credenza across the room. His ex-wife's uncharacteristic silence told McCoy there was more to this unexpected visit from this first wife than met the eye.

By the time he finished with his tie and moved across the room to join her, Donnelly had picked the smallest item on the work space; a 2x3 photo of a startled newborn with a patch of hair as dark as the curious eyes that peeked out from the simple silver frame.

"Brooke's handiwork, no doubt," Donnelly commented before returning the photo to its place at the back. "I remember how you feel about having anything personal out in plain sight around here."

"I feel even stronger about it now that I've decided to run for re-election," McCoy remarked as he picked up the tiny frame and moved towards his desk. "Brooke knows that but when Becky sent us the pictures, Brooke figured I could keep it in the bottom drawer for those times when I needed reminding of why I haven't quit yet."

"That picture's going to get a lot of mileage then, at least until Shalvoy's term expires," Donnelly mused as she watched him deposit the picture into the deep drawer of his desk. "A lot of responsibility to put on those little shoulders… keeping Grandpa's morale up. But, he already has your stubborn streak, so… The last time I saw Becky she told me-"

"Liz, as much as I'd love to stand here and swap stories about our perfect grandchild with you, I have to catch a train. Besides," he continued with a knowing smile. "I suspect you have another reason for wasting a Saturday morning in the company of your ex-husband."

Donnelly returned the smile as she lowered herself into one of the seats in front of the desk. She knew he wasn't going to like the reason she had come. The current man in her life was less than thrilled, as well. But Donnelly knew, even after so many years, there was no way she could ignore the information that had come to her attention; information that had led her to the office of the sitting District Attorney for New York County.

The information had come to her almost accidently. Rushing around Donald Cragen's 'informally' kept apartment in a futile effort to avoid being late for court after both of them had slept through the alarm. That morning, the last thing the judge planned on doing was taking time to read the morning paper.

But as the couple irritably ranted at one another between quick sips of cold coffee and jockeying for the front of the bathroom mirror, Cragen's remarks about the almost obsessive concern one of his lead detectives had for a key witness turned suspect in a recent case, something clicked in the back of the former prosecutors mind.

Something about the way Cragen described the soft spoken middle aged woman Olivia Benson had made her pet project, sounded an alarm in the back of Donnelly's mind, as she recalled similar feelings for a suspect she had naively allowed to play her. A move she paid dearly for professionally, for more years than she cared to remember.

When Cragen mentioned the detials of the high profile case would no doubt be in thatr morning's paper, Donnelly abandoned the bathroom for Cragen's front door and found the face of the woman she'd last seen more than twenty years before staring back at her from the front page of _The Post._

"Liz, we can't fight about it, if I don't know what's on your mind," McCoy gently teased, before his playful smile disappeared and concern began to cloud his eyes. "The only time you usually come to me about anything when our daughter's in trouble, so if there are problems I don't know about with Becky just-"

"No, I didn't mean to alarm you," Donnelly quickly reassured him. "This is a professional visit, not a personal one."

"A professional visit? Something going on with one of my ADA's that I don't know about? If this is anything like that incident with Novak a few months ago-"

"Jack this is about me, nobody else. At least, not the way you mean," she self-consciously continued, before the survival strategies she'd clung to as a ground breaker in the legal world kicked in and she met his confused gaze with a look of cool determination. "I want to come back to the DA's office."


	2. A Favor For an Ex

After Donnelly's request met several beats of stunned silence, she answered McCoy's dumbfound expression with a question of her own.

"Does the name Caroline Creswell ring any bells for you?"

"Given the amount of fall out that case caused for you, not to mention the strain it put on our marriage, do you honestly think I could forget that name," McCoy blurted out with an amused snort. "Caroline Creswell was the defendant in your first homicide case."

"My_ only _homicide case," Donnelly remarked with a hint of the sardonic smirk that was her trademark.

The amusement in McCoy's dark eyes faded as he reached up to loosen his tie. It had been more than twenty years since murder suspect Caroline Creswell had climbed out the window of the ladies room just feet from the office that had once been Donnelly's, never to be seen or heard from again. Yet, McCoy could still remember the ramifications of the young woman's escape from custody as if it had happened yesterday.

He could still remember how hard his young wife had fought to have the case assigned to her. He remembered the excitement she should have felt once the case was hers had being replaced by disappointed anger when she learned the DA at the time had assigned the case to her only after scheduling a meeting with McCoy and obtaining her husband's 'permission' before making the decision official to give the ADA with the highest conviction rate in the office the case of the woman who had brutally shot her husband with his own gun as he slept. But what McCoy remembered most vividly was the endless ridicule Donnelly had endured for years, after losing a suspect through no fault of her own.

As he gazed back at the woman who now sat in the same spot he had the morning Alfred Wentworth summoned him to discuss the 'seemliness' of a woman handling a homicide case. McCoy inwardly cringed as he recalled the humilating label, usually accompanied by a condensing sneer, given to any rookie ADA screwed up after the Creswell case fell apart.

'Doing a Donnelly' was a phrase made not only to humiliate Elizabeth Donnelly, but to make the place of all female ADA's in the Manhattan District Attorney's Office as clear as glass. It was also a phrase that had landed McCoy on a week's suspension without pay, after he stopped at Flynn's after work one night to celebrate a win, only to have one of his more inebriated colleagues making an unfortunate joke when McCoy began making noises about settling his tab and going home, that gave 'doing a Donnelly' a new and suggestive spin that the young husband rewarded with a sucker punch that sent the other attorney flying across the crowded bar.

Donnelly's eyebrows went up as she watched him slip the loosened tie from his neck and lay it on the desk top.

"I thought you had a train to catch. I thought you wanted to get to White Plains before the ground breaking ceremony got-"

"That was before you dropped this bombshell on my desk. If you wanted to come back to the office because you'd had enough of sitting on the sidelines as a judge, I'd assign you an office and be on my way to catch the next train," McCoy said as he gave her a savvy smile. "But if you're coming back to the DA's office has something to do with Caroline Creswell, I want to hear it. All of it, not just the short version, Liz."

888888888888

"And what exactly is McCoy going to tell Greyleck when he pulls her off a case she and Olivia Benson have been building for weeks," Captain Donald Cragen retorted before pausing to blow on the wooden spoon Donnelly held out and tentively tasting the steamy red sauce it held. "It needs more garlic."

"Don, there's already enough garlic in the pot to scare off every vampire in the city."

"You asked and I'm telling you, it needs more garlic," he insisted as turned the spoon towards her and confidently watched her sample the sauce herself.

"Don't gloat," Donnelly muttered as she crossed Cragen's modest kitchenette to pull the remaining garlic from the gleaming metal basket that hung over the kitchen sink.

"I'm right about the garlic; you know I'm right about Greyleck. Come on Liz, you were in her shoes once. You know how hard it is for an ADA to establish herself with a unit like ours. The squad is just beginning to think of her has part of the team and you're going to waltz in there Monday and –"

"You're right. I _was_in her shoes once," Donnelly smoothly admitted without looking up from the garlic press she held. "I was in her shoes and that woman played me Don, just like she's playing your new ADA and Olivia. She got away with it once; I can't let her get away with it again."

"Liz, nobody's asking you to let her get away with anything," Cragen candidly remarked as he waited for her to deposit the skinless cloves of garlic into the pot, before gently taking the metal utensil from her hand. "Go to Kim and Olivia or have Jack do it himself. Once you tell them Linne Malcolm isn't who she claims to be, I'm sure neither of them will be –"

"Come on Don, when you look at that woman what do you see," Donnelly knowingly shot back. "You see a harmless middle aged woman…a victim…not a woman capable of shooting her husband at point blank range while he slept. That's the same thing Benson and Greyleck see. That's the same thing I saw when she was charged with murder and begged to see me…When she sent me a letter telling me she'd plead guilty and accept what was coming to her if she could talk to me alone first."

"And you never found out what it was she wanted to tell you?"

"You mean the terrible thing only_ I_could help her with," Donnelly answered in a voice dripping with sarcasm.

"You don't believe she was in some kind of trouble?"

"You mean besides the trouble she brought on herself by shooting a man in cold blood," she snidely shot back as she covered the simmering pot before picking up the half empty glass of Chianti from the countertop.

"Obviously you think Creswell used that as an excuse to get transported out of lock up and into a location easier to escape from-"

"You're quick; it's a wonder they haven't made you chief of police by now, Don."

"Hey, there's no reason for you to use that tongue of yours to chop _me_up like another clove of garlic," Cragen sharply retorted, before giving her shoulders a gentle squeeze. "I'm on your side, remember?"

Donnelly looked up at the man whose eyes held a flicker of surprise and felt a twinge of shame. One of the things that had drawn her to the widowed SVU Captain was Cragen's easy going nature. In all the years she had known Don Cragen, Donnelly could count on one hand the number of times she'd witnessed him abandon his unflappable persona and give into anger or any other negative emotion.

While he wasn't as educated as her former husband or as financially secure as the numerous attorneys and judges that over the years had tried unsuccessfully to pursue the hard edged beauty, it was Cragen's steadiness, his ability to not only make her laugh with his quiet wit but to make her feel accepted and secure no matter what obstacle they found in their path, that set the Captain head and shoulders above the men that had come and gone in her life. Looking into his eyes, it pained her to know she had let Caroline Creswell make her lash out in such a petty way, at the man that had come to mean everything to her.

"I'm sorry. I know you're not the enemy," Donnelly whispered gently as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "But I know who is and even if I have to step on a few toes to do it, I know what I have to do to make things right."


	3. One Good Turn Creates Complications

Brooke McCoy's eyes widened in surprise after she stepped through the doorway to find her husband putting the finishing touches dinner.

McCoy acknowledged her presence with a welcoming smile as he removed an oven mitt and exchanged the broiler pan he held for a glass of wine.

"Hi."

"Hi yourself," she said as joined him in the kitchen to take the glass he held out to her and returned the quick kiss he planted on her lips. "That must have been the shortest political photo op in history or did Liz succeed where I failed and talked you out of going to White Plains all together?"

"Liz succeeded in sidetracking me, but not the way you're thinking."

An hour later McCoy's wife nodded thoughtfully as she ate the final bite of McCoy's simple feast of baked potatoes and T-bone steaks.

"Well, this has to be a first," she responded when McCoy finished his retelling of the events leading up to Elizabeth Donnelly's return to temporarily return to the DA's office.

"Actually there was a judge up in Rochester that made a similar request a few years ago," McCoy began after draining the last of the scotch from his glass.

"Yes, but Judge Antel wasn't married to the DA up there," Brooke reminded him. "I can understand Liz's determination to see the case through, especially given the ramifications it had on her career. But Jack, given the relationship between the two of you, it wouldn't be hard for your political enemies to take this and run with it in the press."

"By 'enemies' I assume you're referring to Shalvoy and his henchmen?"

"Is there some _other _high powered politician that would like nothing better than to squash you like a bug?"

"Well, there_ is _your former brother in law," McCoy shot back as he shrugged his shoulders in mock innocence.

"Make that a politician that's not already in jail?"

"Melanie Carver stopped returning my calls after that fund raising scandal-"

"Okay, fine. I concede the fact you have enemies lurking around every corner that are plotting your demise," Brooke mockingly retorted as she rolled her eyes. "But I still say Shalvoy is the one who can do the most damage; especially if he thinks he has something personal he can use against you."

McCoy rolled his shoulders again before picking up their empty glasses and retreating to the bar, knowing Brooke would understand his unspoken request for a temporary reprieve.

"More wine?"

"Half a glass," she answered as she followed suit and began to clear the table.

McCoy's first reaction to his wife's concerns was a resounding '_screw Shalvoy'_. But he knew his reason for agreeing to Donnelly's unexpected request went well beyond the pissing match between himself and Donald Shalvoy.

Although Elizabeth Donnelly was been known in throughout the state as an exceptional prosecutor, McCoy knew it wasn't his confidence in his ex-wife's ability to objectively prosecute the cold case that was at the heart of his decision to reinstate her.

As McCoy reached for the bottle of Dewar's, he recalled the night his first wife had gotten the news she was going to be the lead prosecutor on the Creswell case.

In his mind's eye McCoy could see the dejected look on her face when Donnelly walked through the door of the small cottage that was still cluttered with unopened boxes from their move from The City. McCoy had never seen the usually unflappable ADA look so slapped down, either before or since that night.

"_I was hoping to tell you before Alfred had the chance," he said he got up from the tiny table at the back of the modest kitchen. "But then the contractor called about a problem with the new windows and-"_

"_The contractor called _you, _when _I _was the one who wrote the deposit check? When I was the one that told him which window we wanted," Donnelly incredulously gasped, as she let go of what remained of her composer and lashed out at the nearest target available to her._

"_He tried you first Liz, but when your assistant told him you were unavailable-"_

"_My knight in shining amour galloped to the rescue one more time," Donnelly interjected with a bitter snicker. "My God Jack, you must be exhausted. Between fighting my battles at work and-"_

"_Alfred called _me_, not the other way around. He _is_ the DA. What would you have had me do," McCoy defensively demanded as he followed her past the living room and into their bedroom. _

"_Does the phrase 'let me fight my own battles' mean anything to you," Donnelly sarcastically shot back before not quite sidestepping one of the open boxes that blocked the pathway to the bed._

"_Does the phrase 'for better or worse' mean anything to you," her husband countered after reaching to steady her in his arms, while he kicked the container aside. "Come on Liz, you've worked like a dog since joining the DA's office. You have the highest conviction rate in the Sex Crimes Bureau. You've earned the right to prosecute Caroline Creswell, did you really expect me to stand back and watch Wentworth take that away from you?"_

"_Be honest Jack. We both know why you stood up for me with Alfred today," she said in a tone that betrayed the disappointment she felt. _

_McCoy sighed as he guided her to the side of the bed. He had no doubt as to what her comment alluded to and why. From the day Donnelly had accepted the promotion to ADA for the Sex Crimes Unit, the job had been a bone of contention for the newlyweds. _

_Not because the new job meant he once again had to break in a new assistant, but because no matter how progressive McCoy liked to believe he was as a man, especially a newly wed man, he hated the idea of his wife being anywhere near the kind of deviants the Sex Crimes Unit dealt with daily._

"_I stood up for you because you're the best prosecutor for the job, not because of any personal bias I have towards you as my wife," he shot back with a blunt edge in his own voice that revealed McCoy's mounting frustration. "Face it Liz, if a man goes after a little mouse like Caroline Creswell, it's a slam dunk for the defense. We both know you're a damn good attorney; we also know you have this case in part because you're a woman. So instead of fighting it, use it."_

"_Is that what you told Alfred," Donnelly whispered her eyes as wide and shiny as if McCoy had literally, instead of figuratively, knocked the wind out of her._

_An older, wiser McCoy would have recognized the hurt in his wife's eyes for what it was, but at that moment he saw his wife through eyes filled with his own impatience at having been put in a no win situation by their superior._

"_Alfred told me he didn't think prosecuting murderers was an appropriate job for a woman. Especially a woman who has just become a wife and will soon have the additional responsibility of being a mother-"_

"_You told him I'm pregnant! Oh my God Jack, how could you-"_

"_He told _me_and I wasn't about to deny something that will be obvious to the entire office in a matter of months," he gruffly countered; ignoring the horror in her voice. "What I did tell him was to look passed your gender and at your record as a prosecutor. That combined with the like ability points a pretty young mother will get, will more than counteract the sympathy a helpless looking defendant will invoke in a jury."_

"_So that's your answer? To go with it? Use Alfred Wentworth's blatant discrimination and antiquated thinking to my advantage and roll with the punches," she quietly demanded as McCoy felt an invisible wall come crashing down between them._

"_If you have a better idea, let's hear it."_

"_How about I sue his sorry ass and you testify in my behalf," she hotly shot back as she turned her scathing gaze on him. "Do I need to remind you the Fair Employment Act is a federal statue, that supersedes Wentworth or any other employer from-?"_

"_For God's sake Liz, he asked your husband how he felt about you handling a murder case; he didn't have his hand down your blouse!"_

_  
"Of course he didn't," she said in the same calm, deadly steady voice that had her professional trademark. It was a voice that McCoy knew well enough to know he'd gone too far to hope that the most heartfelt of apologies would begin to repair the damage done by his frustrated outburst. "Isn't that one of the old boy rules? Not to take what belongs to another man?"_

"_Damn it Elizabeth, even if you took it to court, all you have is circumstantial evidence. I mean, the man assigned the case to you!"_

"_Only because you told him you'd allow me to take it! For all intensive purposes, you own me every bit as much as you own that bike of yours," she continued with a coldness that made it impossible for him to suppress his own outrage._

"_This is about Wentworth being a dinosaur; don't make it about us. If you want to sue him, call Danielle Melnick and I'll back you up a hundred percent. You'll not only finish your own career if you challenge Wentworth in court, we'll both look like an idiots when the case gets thrown out for lack of evidence. But you'll have your five minutes of fame for the sake of the sisterhood. To hell with your career, to hell with my career; to hell with how we'll provide for a child you never wanted in the first place!"_

"Oh God Jack, you really said that," Brooke McCoy asked as she exchanged his empty tumbler for a steamy cup of coffee.

"I really said that and more," he admitted to his current wife as she joined him on the sofa. "Brooke, you're a decade younger than Liz. By the time you started practicing; enforcement of the Equal Employment Act was much more vigorous. At the time of the Creswell case, Liz's career would have ended before it had a chance to take off if she'd gone through with that lawsuit."

"I don't doubt that. But one; the battle isn't over for equity in the workplace, trust me. Two," she contined with a knowing half-smile on her lips, "diverting Liz's attention with that kind of a personal attack must have cost you both dearly."

"It was an ugly truth I had no business throwing in her face."

Brooke studied the face that's deceptively indifferent expression told her how much regret the revelations of a night, so many years earlier continued to hold for him. Although they had never discussed the circumstances surrounded the conception of McCoy's daughter, Brooke had seen the dates of McCoy's two previous marriages listed on their own application for a marriage license. She knew Rebecca McCoy had been born less than a year after he had married Elizabeth Donnelly. Up until McCoy's unexpected revelation, she had assumed the timing had come from poor planning due to the limited effectiveness of the birth control devices available at the time. Such a unplanned event would naturally invoke shock and surprise for both spouses, but Brooke found it difficult to image either of Rebecca's parents truly unhappy about her early arrival in their lives.

Even with her own mistimed pregnancy, it was mere panic that had fleetingly made Brooke think McCoy would be anything but thrilled at the prospect of impeding fatherhood. Panic that, once she looked into the reassuring gaze her husband's eyes held, was quickly chalked up to nothing more than her own uncertainties.

But his words, followed by an unusually long gap of silence, as well as the almost unreadable expression plastered to his face, left no doubt in Brooke's mind that her husband's brief disclosure was but a small but significant piece in the puzzle that was his first marriage.

"It was an ugly thing to say, but I've seen both of you with Becky. It's obvious how much she's loved by both you and her mother. You were both young when she was born, Jack. No matter how either of you felt at the time, you've both more than made up for any doubts you might have had in the beginning."

"We were both scared to death and too stubborn to admit it, even to ourselves," he said with a regretful sigh. "We knew the morning after we began our honeymoon… God Brooke… at the time it just seemed inconceivable. No pun intended," he continued with an ironic half smile. "We'd talked about children long before the wedding. We both agreed the sensible thing was to wait a few years. At least until Liz had made a name for herself. But fate had other ideas."

"Fate usually does," she said with a quiet chuckle that caused McCoy's smile to widened, as he met the large blue eyes that continued to eye him with compassion. "I mean, look at us and all the stops and starts. Sometimes for the good; sometimes not so good. But we've dealt with them. Just as I'm sure you and Liz dealt with having Becky. I know you think you owe Liz something, but-"

"I don't think. I know I owe here, Brooke. I watched Elizabeth not only go through hell with that case when she was prosecuting it, but for years after Creswell blindsided her by escaping."

"Escaping? That sounds like an NYPD failing, not something anyone could blame Liz for."

"You don't understand. Liz had her brought to her office after Creswell wrote her for help."

"For help?'

"Yeah. Bottom line is, Caroline Creswell played Liz and escaped out a bathroom window. Even after Wentworth retired and Adam Schiff took over as DA, when a rookie screwed up, most of the old timers still called it 'doing a Donnelly'. It wasn't until Nora Levin made her Bureau Chief that that crap finally died a natural death."

"That's inexcusable, Jack. But it doesn't mean you have to put your neck on the chopping block, just to try to right a thirty year old wrong."

"Damn it Brooke, I wish you'd have enough faith in me to stop worrying about Donald Shalvoy for five minutes," he snapped as he impatiently stood and turned towards the window. "I'm going to do what I think is right and if Shalvoy wants to come after me, let him."

Brooke heaved a silent sigh as she brought her knees to her chest, in an effort to resist going to her husband's side. She had learned from bitter experience that it was best to give McCoy his space when her concern and what she saw as his male pride clashed over Donald Shalvoy.

Although her common sense told her McCoy was right, Brooke couldn't completely shake the feeling the other proverbail shoe was about to drop, when it came to the governor and his vendetta against her husband. In part her fear was a remnant from the effects of terminating her pregnancy several months earlier. Ever since the couple had given up any hope of having a child together, Brooke had found herself almost compulsively concerned about the well being of her husband.

Logically, she knew Jack McCoy was more than capable of dealing with whatever obstacle blocked his path, especially his career path. But after the Excalibur affair ended with Shalvoy smelling like a rose and her husband's name in the infamous clubs reservation book, Brooke had feared the worst was coming for McCoy and his re-election campaign.

"If this is about doing what's right, I think you may have neglected to consider something or should I say someone?"

"Brooke, I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. But if this is about Shalvoy, you have to trust me and just-"

"I do trust you and this has nothing to do with the governor," she replied as McCoy turned from the window to face her. "It has to do with trampling over a ADA in your office to make this personal vindication of yours fly."


	4. The Crusader

"What it is is crap Abbie, no matter how you try to spin it."

Deputy States Attorney Abigail Carmichael grudgingly nodded her agreement before taking a swallow from the wineglass in front of her, while the perturbed blond beside her continued to fume.

"I learned the drill from when I was in DC. No matter where you practice law, there's always some kind of club. In the Justice Department, it's the old boy's network. In the DA's office it's cronies of the new DA… present company excluded," the most recent addition to the Sex Crimes Bureau of the Manhattan DA's office ranted; only to reduce the heat in her tone when Carmichael coolly objected by merely raising an eyebrow. "Look Abbie, I know you and Jack McCoy go way back. But you were assigned to SVU. You of all people know how important it is for the ADA's and the detectives working those cases to be able to establish a bond…a sense of trust… towards one another. It's important not only to lay the foundation for a stable working relationship, but for consistencies sake when we deal with the victims. To have Judge Donnelly just waltz into interrogation without so much as a heads up from Jack McCoy or my bureau chief speaks volumes about the way the new DA plans to reward his loyal followers."

"I'd hardly call Liz Donnelly any body's 'loyal follower'," Carmichael dryly interjected before signaling the bartender for another round. "Look Kim, I'd be angry too if Liz Donnelly walked off with one of my cases, but I worked with Jack long enough to know he wouldn't give anyone a case just for old times sake. But I'll admit, I can't figure out why a thirty year old case would be important enough to Donnelly to take a leave from the bench to prosecute it or why Jack would even consider letting-"

"Maybe he takes that 'til death do us part thing more seriously _after_ the divorce."

Carmichael rolled her eyes as the half a dozen exchanges she witnessed between the former Mrs. McCoy and Carmichael's former boss ran through her mind. Vehemently shaking her head, she remembered the cool formality between the pair whether discussing a case or a problem with their only child.

"The last thing this is about is Jack trying to score points with Liz Donnelly. Didn't you say she made some remark about handling the original case?"

"Yeah, I thought I had a simple case of a runaway witness for my rape case. Turns out, my witness is Donnelly's defendant in some ancient homicide case," ADA Kimberly Greyleck murmured as the bartender replaced their empty glasses. "Why she cares enough about it to come back to the DA's office is a mystery to me, but what I'd really like to know is, what's the deal with McCoy. I mean, when I decided to leave Justice I didn't go to the DA's office, they came to me. When I got the call to interview for the opening Casey Novak left, I assumed Jack McCoy valued my experience with the Commission on Violence Against Women enough that he wouldn't second guess me five minutes after I came on board."

"He didn't second guess you when you threatened to charge a defendant with a hate crime for raping two women of color or when you provoked a defendant whose charges had been dropped into attacking you so you could charge her with assault, did he," a raspy voice demanded behind her.

The new ADA silently bit her lower lip while she shot Carmichael an accusing glare, praying all the while the sinking feeling in her stomach would calm itself before the half a bowl of pretzels and glass of white wine she'd consumed wouldn't wind up on the bar or worse yet, at the feet of the imposing figure behind her.

"Mr. McCoy forgive my candor," Greyleck began as she swung around after Carmichael gave her a confused shrug of the shoulders, as if to send the message she was a confused as the ADA as to how the DA had found them. "But when I lose a case before I've even started it, I can't help but wonder what happened and why."

"I'd be wondering the same thing in your place Ms. Greyleck. I'd also be wondering why the SOB responsible would be arrogant enough to add insult to injury by broadsiding me in a public place after working hours," DA Jack McCoy retorted with the faintest of smiles; a smile that lit up the deep brown eyes enough for Greyleck to find it difficult not to smile back at the man who only seconds before had been the subject of her ire. "For the record it was your administrative assistant, not Ms. Carmichael, that told me where I'd find you tonight."

Before she could respond, Greyleck found herself thanking the technology Gods when she felt the vibration of the cell phone clipped to the belt of her slacks.

"It's Detective Benson," Greyleck remarked as she stood after glancing at the display on her phone. "I'm afraid I have to take this Mr. McCoy-"

"Go. I'll be here when you get back," McCoy replied before giving his drink order the man behind the bar. The moment the young ADA began to move towards the front door McCoy's smile widened into a full blown grin and he leaned down to give Carmichael a warm embrace. "Abbie! I haven't seen you since the party you helped plan when I became DA. How did you like your stint in DC and long have you been back in town?"

"You of all people should know how little patience I have politics and politicians, Jack," the raven haired beauty retorted with mock impatience. "Which is why I not only left DC the moment the joint task force was over, I snagged one of their best and brightest and brought her back to you, only to have you give her first high profile case to your ex-wife without a word of explanation. You mind tell _me_ what that's about?"

"Abbie, if I didn't explain myself to you when you were my assistant, do you really think I'm going to start now that I'm the DA?"

"Given the fact you owe me Jack, I think I'm being mighty generous giving you a chance to do just that, instead of coming after you with a little Texas persuasion, like my Granddaddy's horsewhip," Carmichael countered in a tone that usually struck fear into the heart of anyone foolish enough to question the woman with the highest conviction rate in the States Attorney's Office.

McCoy only deepned his grin.

The DA chuckled as her tone brought a flood of memories to his conscious mind; memories of the woman her colleagues in the DA's office nicknamed 'Hang 'Em Higher Carmichael'. When Abbie Carmichael arrived on the tenth floor, her image of as a cool, seemly confident girl who was ready to take on any bad-ass foolish enough to block her path her new boss included, quickly gave way to reveal of a frightened, guilt ridden young woman who a few months later confided the details of her own rape to McCoy and inadvertently won a place forever in his heart as one of the most courageous women he'd ever had the honor to work with.

"Do you really think I'd be crazy enough to try the patience of old Hang 'Em Higher, counselor," McCoy deadpanned; his companion almost instantly flinching at the nickname she had always despised.

"Well, if you're crazy enough to test the patience of The Crusader, who knows _what_ pot you might be willing to stir up next."

McCoy raised eyebrow at the nickname his new ADA had acquired during her time with the Justice Department. When he heard it, McCoy couldn't help be realize how apt a name it was for the young woman who made winning as high a priority had the DA himself had during his time as one of Manhattan's top prosecutors.

"When you sent Greyleck to me, I didn't realize I was getting a top notch prosecutor as well as a vigilante to boot,' McCoy remarked before taking a sip of his drink. "Having another loose cannon in the DA's office isn't exactly what I need in an election year, Abbie."

"Oh come on Jack. It's Kim's commitment for the victims, as well as her passion for justice, that is going to send your conviction rate in Sex Crimes through the roof. That is, if you don't keep taking cases away from her and giving them to Liz Donnelly."

"_I _could still learn and think or two about prosecuting a case from Liz Donnelly; so can Greyleck. But for the record, this case is a one time thing, Abbie."

"A time you couldn't pick up the phone and give your ADA a heads up about?"

"Actually, I did just that first thing this morning, only to find Greyleck had already left for the courthouse," McCoy retorted with defensiveness that brought a look of amusement to Carmichael's eyes. "I left a message for her to call me when she got back. I had no idea the defendant her case was about to change his plea to guilty. Apparently, she went straight from the courthouse to the 1 6 without checking in with her assistant."

"Jack, she probably checked her voice mail for anything urgent-"

"Be that as it may, when Liz finished with the Creswell woman, Greyleck was gone. Liz called and gave me an ear full of hell for not talking to Greyleck about the change, so the last thing I need is a replay with you."

"Sounds like Kim's assistant is the one that needs the replay," Carmichael commented drily. "If the DA called _me_ and _I_ didn't get the message there'd have been one less administrative assistant working in Major Felonies when I found out."

"I've had more pressing things to worry about today then finding out exactly where the communication breakdown began," McCoy gruffly continued. "But the bottom line is, Liz is the one best suited to see this case through. She knows things about the original investigation that aren't in any case file. So whether I inadvertently stepped on any toes or not, Greyleck's just going to have to suck this one up and assume I'm making the right decision."


	5. The Heat is On

"Isn't it time to just suck it up," Brooke McCoy remarked after her husband threw the wrench he'd been holding back into the toolbox beside him.

"Suck up what," McCoy tersely shot back as he slammed the lid on the box down in frustration. "The fact this air conditioning unit is as old as my grandfather or the fact that home inspector we hired should be sued for not realizing that? "

"Both, as well as the fact that if you're serious about being on the ballot in June, you have to tell somebody besides your wife that you're planning to run," she patiently continued while she picked up the phone book that sat beside her cell phone on the coffee table. "As for the AC, it takes a real man to know when it's time to call the repair guy, as opposed to sweating off another twenty pounds. So be a real man and accept defeat gracefully."

"You and I both know what a repairman is going to charge on a Saturday just to tell us what we already know," McCoy grumbled after sampling and then frowning at the warm can of beer beside him before standing. "The compressor is shot and that means-"

"That we remember what the 'savings' in savings account is for and we bite the bullet and order whatever it takes to make this sauna a home again," she interjected with a sigh as she caught her husband's hand and exchanged the can in his hand with the one beside the phone that still had a sliver of ice on its top. "As for the election face it Jack, it's time to announce your candidacy before every major donor in the city is committed to Lathem or one of your other opponents."

"I thought you and the rest of my self appointed advocates were worried about the fallout from the Criswell case,"McCoy shot back; the heat and the frustration he felt from his futile attempt to play handyman, getting the best of him. "Doesn't that make this the worst possible time for me to declare I'm running for dog catcher, much less DA?"

"Self appointed advocate? Better than being a self appointed jerk," Brooke muttered under her breath as she let go of the can and turned away from her husband and back to the gaping hole in the wall nearest the window before grabbing her cell phone. "Do what you want about the election, but unless you want to try to wrestle the phone away from me, I've enough of this sauna not to mention the sunny disposition you have when the temperature indoors goes above ninety."

McCoy's annoyed scowl soften into a look of self-recrimination as he listened to his wife make the arrangements for service with the first repair shop that answered the phone. Despite the natural grumpiness that came with having a cooling unit off line in the middle of July in Manhattan, the DA knew the sharpness of his tone had had little to do with his wife's encouragement to make his decision to run for office a matter of public record and more to do with the fact everyone from the mayor down to the investigating officers at the 1 6 had spent the previous week voicing their concerns about the Criswell case and the appearance of impropriety having his ex-wife prosecute the case could project.

It was the petty scuffling that seemed to steadily increase since the day he'd been sworn in as DA that had kept McCoy from announcing his intention to run for DA to anyone but his current spouse. Not only with the political bosses of the City, such as the mayor and members of the city council, but with members of McCoy's own staff. The latest confrontation being the show down between himself and his own Executive Assistant Michael Cutter, over a well meaning plea bargain designed by Cutter as a stop gap to 'save' defendant Lacey Talbot's daughter from an unspeakable but legal series of surgical procedures.

It was a deal McCoy had warned the new EADA not to offer, a warning McCoy knew he himself would not have heeded, were he in Cutter shoes. It was with that knowledge that the sitting DA reluctantly strode into the courtroom of his old nemesis and friend Walter Bradley, to personally and officially remove the plea from the bargaining table, much to the chagrin of the EADA prosecuting the case.

Between the showdown with Cutter and the fallout from Donnelly's temporary reinstatement, it was no wonder that McCoy had put off announcing his plans to run for DA, even to his daughter and former wife. It was that decision that had kept Donnelly in the dark about the deeper ramifications of her impassioned plea for McCoy to grant her the only favor she had asked of him in more than twenty years.

"Alright, it's done. The guy will be here in forty-five minutes," Brooke said as she snapped her phone shut. "It's costing us more money than God has, but I can't take baking in my own house_ and_ having you fry me every time I try to talk to you about more than the weather and the Jets."

"I was being a typical man. You have every right to be appalled," he said with an apologetic half smile as he sat down on the sofa beside her and extended the hand that still held the beer can. "Especially after giving me the last cold beer in the house."

"Well, that's a start," Brooke commented before taking a long swallow of the peace offering McCoy had held out to her. "But you'll have to do better if you're seeking total absolution from me, counselor. You've been a royal pain since you withdrew that plea agreement in open court on Thursday and it's just too hot for me to put up with your nastiness for the rest of the weekend."

"Agreed," he said as she handed him the remaining beer, only to have him run the cool aluminum slowly across the beads of sweat that had formed along the low bodice of her tank top. "Not only was I being a typical man, I was being a real jackass wasn't I?"

"Well, I'd have said you were being a real jerk, but who am I to argue with the DA," she said with a wide grin before her laughter was suppressed by McCoy's lips.

"How much is that going to cost me," McCoy breathlessly inquired when the sweltering heat in the room made it impossible for them to remain together and he reached for the beer.

"The kiss?"

"The air," he answered after savoring the cool liquid and holding the can out to her once more.

"You don't want to know, it's just going to make you hotter. In more ways than one," Brooke said as she shook her head and headed towards the kitchen. "Listen Jack, I know you have a lot on your mind, so which is it? Is it the situation with Liz, the situation with Cutter, or the situation starting a campaign is going to create that's got you on edge," she continued as she pulled an ice tray from the freezer and gave him a knowing smile. "Or is it the fact you've been an old married man for a year, come next Sunday?"

"Been a married man long enough to know what an answer to_ that_ question could cost me," McCoy shot back as he caught the cube of ice his wife playfully tossed his way. "You know if the heat's getting to you that much, we could take cold bath."

"With the guy coming, ice is a smarter way to go," Brooke responded as she ran the cube she held over her neck. "Come on Jack. Talk to me. I know you don't like the way you and Mike left things at the elevator on Friday. Why don't you just pick up the phone and work it all out before you have to face each other Monday?"

"Because Mike is a subordinate not a personal friend," McCoy gently reminded her. "If he doesn't like the way I want a case run, he knows what his options are."

"Of course he does and I'm sure if he didn't respect your decision to effectively dress him down by withdrawing that plea agreement in front of Walter Bradley and a courtroom filled with spectators, he'd spend his weekend exercising those options and don't think my being your wife would stop me for a second in snapping him up, should he impulsively apply for the opening Suffolk county has for an ADA in Major Crimes."

"Duly noted, counselor. But the fact remains-"

"You know, I bet Cutter's AC is working just fine," she shot back as McCoy tossed what remained of his dripping cube into the sink behind them. "Didn't he you tell me he lives in one of those recently renovated condo's out by Ben and Shambala?"

McCoy smiled at his wife's new ploy to be a bridge for peace between himself and his second in command. Although the brief exchange at the elevators between the two men had left as bad taste in his mouth, McCoy couldn't help but feel in the long run his actions would be vindicated by Cutter himself. The younger man was too sharp an attorney not to see the wisdom in withdrawing a plea agreement that included restricting a parent's basic right to decide medical treatment for their child, even when that treatment seemed appalling to every outsider involved, including McCoy.

"Brooke, I'm sure I'm the last person Cutter wants to see on a Saturday afternoon. Especially after yesterday."

"Maybe so, but given the fact he's bound to wind up out of the office most of next week-"

"Most of next week? I'm afraid you lost me there. Mike's sending Connie to Dagerville to follow up on the Cary case, not going up himself."

"Hum hum. And where Connie goes, Mike is sure to follow," Brooke answered with the same smug smile she seemed to get every time the pair found themselves talking about McCoy's former assistant and her new boss. "Which is why if you want to get back to business as usual with Mike, you should bite the bullet and go talk with him in a place where you can speak freely, without interruption, with an inviting environment such as an a new condo cooled by new central air conditioning. No one is saying you have to apologize or God forbid, acknowledge any wrong doing. Just talk to the man while you hydrate."


	6. One Man to Another

"Mike, just talk to the man, you'll have to Monday morning anyway," the attractive brunette sitting on the leather sofa in Mike Cutter's modest living room urged before handing him the resume she had just finished proofreading. "It's not like you're really going to send this anywhere, except to a file in your own computer."

"What makes you think I won't email a copy to Suffolk County this afternoon," the EADA defiantly remarked as his Black Berry grew silent and the call from his boss went to voice mail. "When I ran into Jake Cohen out in Brooklyn last week, he mentioned the opening his office has in Major Felonies-"

"Come on Mike, after what Jack did in court last week, the last thing you're going to do is give him the satisfaction of thinking he ran you out of Manhattan with your tail between your legs," Connie Rubirosa remarked before the phone in Cutter's hand beeped an alert that he had a new voice message. "You know, you two are more alike than either of you cares to admit."

Cutter grudgingly shrugged his shoulders as the words McCoy had spoken twenty-four hours earlier rang in cutter's ears.

"…_you'll be glad one day that I was there to rein you in, Mike. I wish someone had been there to do the same for me when I needed it."_

Cutter grimaced at the words, still not being able to quite believe them, given what he knew from case law about the thin line Jack McCoy prosecutor had walked in so many cases. They were cases that the legendary prosecutor had not only won, but that had made his reputation as an uncompromising hard-ass in the courtroom. It was a reputation that sent the majority of criminal defense attorneys throughout the New York area reaching for their migraine medication when the name 'Jack McCoy' was even mentioned in their presence.

"If Adam Schiff himself had pulled what McCoy did in last week, Jack would have had his resignation written and on the DA's desk by the end of business that same day," Cutter proclaimed as he took the corrected paper Rubirosa offered and sat down at the oval shaped table beside her. "You told me yourself how Jack offered his resignation to Arthur Branch that time Branch gave you Jack's closing in the eleventh hour, after they disagreed over whether not reporting the Corner's erroneous testimony was a breach of ethics."

"But Arthur gave the resignation back to him, just like Jack will if you go any further with this and-," at the all too familiar sound of the ringing of Cutter's Black Berry, Rubirosa paused to take the device from his hand and scan the screen. When she saw the number she knew to be Jack McCoy's home phone number, she grinned as she backed her chair far enough away to put the device temporarily out of her bosses reach before she pressed the button to accept the call. "Hi, Jack! It's Connie…No, no Mike and I are just finishing up a few things for Monday," she continued brightly as she ignored Cutter's discerning stare. "He's standing right here."

***************************************************************************************************************

"Glad you made it Mike, even if she did make you come down to talk to me," McCoy said without taking his eyes from the board that was riddled with darts, all within a a quarter of an inch or less of its bulls eye, while he prepared to launch the one remaining in his hand.

Cutter bit back his response until the dart sailed smoothly from McCoy's grasp to the center of the board. While it was common knowledge around the DA's office that playing darts with Jack McCoy was only a good idea if you had money to burn, the EADA had never witnessed the master at work. Despite the strong feelings of resentment that churned silently within him, Cutter found himself impressed by the display of yet another of the older man's skills.

"If you're talking about Connie, that remark implies a relationship you as DA might be better off not having direct knowledge of, Jack."

McCoy paused from pulling the last of the darts out of the board to give the younger man a glance that wordlessly said 'give me a break', from over his shoulder. Although he knew from personal experience both the forbidden pleasure, as well as the numerous kinds of explosions exploring the mine field of pursing a co-worker could bring,…especially a co-worker who was also a subordinate…there was no denying what his wife had jokingly been pointing out to him for months. Even without knowing how far things had gone, it was obvious Cutter and Rubirosa had more than a professional interest in one another.

"I didn't come down here to question what goes on in your personal life, Mike. You're not the only one that had a little feminine persuasion to come down here to talk," McCoy explained with a sheepish smile while a young woman, wearing a tube top with _Duggan's_ brightly embossed in red across her chest and the briefest of blue denim short shorts, handed McCoy a frosty mug and waited to take Cutter's order before retreating back to the bar. "By the way, Brooke sends her love."

Cutter softly snickered as he fell in behind McCoy and followed him to one of the few empty tables left in the dive that was but a few steps from the brownstone that housed the EADA's modest condo. Given the heat and the fact that in an effort to avoid a massive power loss, ConEd had begun rolling brown outs early that afternoon, it was no surprise many of the City's residents had begun seeking refuge in the string of bars and coffee houses on the Lower West Side that were lucky enough to have had their power restored.

"And here I thought maybe your neighborhood being in the middle of a brown out was what brought you to my end of town," Cutter remarked as the waitress joined them with Cutter's beer and a bowl pretzels.

"I should be so lucky. Not only is the air out at the loft, the by the time the repair guy is done, what's left of my retirement savings will be gone as well," McCoy admitted as he nibbled on one of the pretzels. "I think Brooke was hoping I'd refuse to come see you so she could get out of that sweat box and smooth things over herself and leave me at the tender mercies of the repair guy and his bill."

"Look Jack, I appreciate the gesture. But we both know the Carey case isn't the first time we've butted heads," Cutter said candidly before reaching for his glass. "This goes beyond whose right or wrong. We both have different ideas about what the role of a prosecutor is and the boundaries between-"

McCoy silenced the younger man with an impatient wave of his hand. Even before Brooke had joked about stealing away his top prosecutor, McCoy had been anticipated the ramifications of his actions in court that week. Having been 'reined in' more than once, by more one District Attorney during the course of his own career, McCoy could not only predict the resentment Cutter felt towards him, he could understand the reasons behind it. It was that understanding that made McCoy certain of what his own response needed to be.

"If you're planning on tendering your resignation you need to know, I won't stand in your way by refusing to accept it," McCoy interjected with equal bluntness. "But I wouldn't be happy about seeing you go either, Mike."

The younger man's eyes widened slightly; not so much out of any surprise at his superior's directness…Cutter had come to expect that… but out of his own realization at how much he had miscalculated the amount of regret he might feel if, indeed he chose to leave Manhattan to pursue a different career path.

Cutter knew McCoy well enough to know the man would never beg any attorney to stay in the DA's office. That was made more than clear the day McCoy fired Josh Lathem; a man McCoy had worked with for nearly twenty years.

When McCoy had told the Senior ADA to pack his things and promptly handed Cutter the high profile case that had created the tension between Lathem and the DA, it was an unspoken message to all who remained that working in the DA's office during McCoy's tenure would be about ethics and conviction rates, not about seniority and the expectations usually associated with it.

But as he unwaveringly met the other man's accepting gaze, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret. Regret that he wouldn't be learning from the man he still considered the best prosecutor in the state, as well as regret at being a breath away from ending not only the most professionally rewarding partnership he'd yet to have with an assistant, but quite possibly ending a personal relationship that had become equally as important, as well.

"I wouldn't be happy about going," Cutter admitted when he finally broke what was becoming an awkward silence between them. "But you have every right to run your office the way you see fit and with people that have the same vision that you do, Jack."

"If I wanted a yes man as my right hand, you'd have been gone months ago," McCoy shot back, smiling to himself as he paraphrased the words Arthur Branch had spoken the last time McCoy had offered the man his own resignation.

"Come on Jack, the bottom line is you don't trust my judgment. If you did-"

"It was about trust when I fired Josh Lathem. With you Mike, it's about knowing when to pull back personally in order to achieve the end result… in order to get justice for the victim," McCoy impatiently remarked as he leaned in before lowering his voice to almost a raspy whisper. "Damn it Mike, I have a daughter of my own. Do you honestly think I don't understand why you pulled out all the stops to prevent those procedures being done on the Carey girl? But even if Walter Bradley accepted that plea agreement…even if you had given Sandra Talbot a temporary reprieve… you'd have been reversed by the appellate court before the week was out and where would that leave any kind of justice for Flora Escobedo and her family? Sometimes, you can't save everyone, Mike. Sometimes there's unavoidable collateral damage. Sometimes you have to take what justice you can get for the victim and move on."

"Unavoidable collateral damage, Jack? Is that what you told yourself so you could sleep at night after the Willick case? Is that how you stomached the dressing down you got when Adam Schiff got wind of you including tubal ligation for Ellen Willick as one of the terms of her plea agreement? Word has it you were a breath away from disbarment after that case."

"Word? You were in high school when I was prosecuting Ellen Willick," McCoy barked; the look on his face suddenly so haggard and distant, that Cutter remained silent, fearing his remarks had gone too far and cut too deep this time.

McCoy remained quiet as well, his gaze shifting from his uncomfortable subordinate to the rim of his own glass. He continued to blindly stare at the amber contents of the glass, seeing instead the autopsy pictures of the three infants that had died at the hands of their own mother.

It was one of the few cases he had refused to discuss with his current wife. The first and only time the case had come up had been just a few months after Brooke had terminated her pregnancy. As fate would have it, the case of another woman who had been systematically getting pregnant and killing her newborn soon after delivery had come across McCoy's spouse's desk.

In her research to prepare for the case, Brooke had come across the Willet case and was at once stunned and awed by the lengths McCoy had gone to end the serial killer's method of supplying new, unsuspecting victims for herself. Anxious to make a new run at the same strategy, Brooke had come home hoping to quiz her husband on the case and his prosecution tactics. Even after more than a decade, the hard-nosed DA found himself haunted and repulsed by not only Ellen Willet's actions, but his own as well.

"It was a landmark case in this state Jack," Cutter carefully explained after silence grew to an unbearable length. "Even though the terms of the plea agreement didn't hold up-"

"The case was a landmark in the depravity of man, as well as my own irresponsibility," the older man snapped; the sound of Cutter's voice jarring him back to the present. "Whether you stay or go Mike, don't hold me up as some kind of role model to emulate while you try to justify circumventing the justice system. It was wrong when I tried to play God with Ellen Willick's life, it was wrong when you tried to do the same with Lacey Carey's."

"And what about how they tried to play God with the lives of their own children," Cutter demanded in a tone that had more than a few heads turning their way, while McCoy was reminded of the main reason he had wanted the younger man across the hall from him, as opposed to one of his more experienced if not less passionate, former colleagues.

"Mike in order to do what we do and do it well, a prosecutor has to remember the ramifications of his or her actions can go well beyond the single case they're trying," McCoy after regaining his own composer and leaning back in the uncomfortable wooden chair. "A good prosecutor keeps their eyes on the case at hand; an exceptional one also looks down the road to make damn sure their actions won't create more victims in the long run. That's why none of us have the luxury of getting down in the mud with the Ellen Willets and Lacey Carey's of this world."

It was the same argument Connie Rubirosa had made at _Flynn's_ after McCoy had withdrew the plea agreement. At the time, her calm voice of reason reciting the numerous ways the terms of the agreement could have been misused and twisted by an unscrupulous prosecutor fell on ears made deaf by Cutter's fury and wounded pride at having been publicly shot down by the DA.

While Cutter still couldn't say he was completely convinced even after hearing McCoy's starker version, the look in McCoy's eyes told the EADA that while McCoy couldn't condone either of their actions, the DA was indeed a kindred spirit in Cutter's internal struggle to serve justice and right the wrongs he came across in the process.

"Maybe that's a sentiment you should think about passing on to our returning ADA, as well."

It was the sincerity in Cutter's voice that made McCoy respond at the unexpected reference to his former wife with only a raised eyebrow, while he internally braced himself for the younger man's explanation.


	7. Domestic Unrest

"Dare I ask why champane for three suddenly turned into tequila for two," Jake Cohen remarked while his best friend breezed past him balancing a carton of orange juice, a bottle of Crevo Gold and a smaller bottle of grenadine as she moved towards his kitchen counter.

"We agreed that I'd bring the booze and you'd make the meal, remember?"

"True. But if we're going to get down to business and get that anniversary party of yours on track, it's easier to keep a clear head drinking mumosas, as opposed to sunrises," Cohen pressed as he took the tequila bottle out of Brooke's hand and turned her to face him. "Brooke, where's your better half?"

"Jack's where Jack always is these days. But that's okay," she answered briskly as she turned her glance away from her friend and towards the platter of food on the other side of the counter. "More of this fabulous meal for us and after we've eaten, you can help me finish planning the the anniversary party, although the odds of Jack actually being _around_ for that event are beginning to look like slim to none."

"I seriously doubt anything could keep Jack away from that celebration and I think you know that Brooke. At least you know it when you're not ticked by the man," Cohen ruefully shot back before lifting her chin to find her blinking back the moisture in her eyes. "Brooke, tell me where he is."

"In the law library at One Hogan Place and don't look at me like that," she impatiently remarked as she turned to slip a slice of melon from the platter. "The air won't be back on at my place until the middle of the week. You know how easily I tear up when it's hot and I get hormonal."

"Hormonal or hurt? This is about the Criswell case, isn't it," Cohen asked, well aware of the tension that had formed between the couple after McCoy had agreed to allow his former wife take over the case. "Brooke, you see your Ex every day and Jack doesn't seem to have a problem with it. He and Judge Donnelly have been divorced long enough for him to have gotten married again, not once, but twice. Doesn't that tell you the thrill is gone for him when it comes to his first wife?"

"Oh God Jake, don't be an idiot! The last thing I think Jack's doing is having an affair with Liz Donnelly," Brooke gasped.

"Then what in the world has you so upset," Cohen asked in a similarly exasperated tone.

"The fact you stole my tequila, for starters Cohen," she retorted as she took the bottle from him before moving to the cabinet she knew held his glassware.

"What else?"

"It's nothing, it's stupid and not worth saying out loud," she said feeling embarrassed to have said as much as she had.

Even letting on to her closest friend how much McCoy's decision to give his ex-wife the cold as ice case made Brooke feel childish and petty. As a senior prosecutor, she knew firsthand how many hours any DA worth their salt put in at the office; especially when a case with the potential for political disaster was moving as quickly to trial as the Creswell case was.

It was bad enough McCoy had in a rare moment of sentimental weakness, agreed to give Donnelly the case. It was worse that he had slighted a diamond in the rough like Kim Greyleck in the process. But it was the news Mike Cutter had given her husband the day before that had sent Brooke's heart racing as well as her mouth, after her husband's return from the Lower Westside.

"_So Sex Crimes Bureau Chief told Mike about his concerns about proceeding against Caroline Creswell? Concerns he voiced on the record in an Executive session with those objections noted in the minutes-"_

"_Along with another twenty notations of concerns about cases in progress," McCoy wearily countered as he began to unbutton his shirt while he moved towards the largest of the open windows in the loft._

"_Damn it Jack, this is the kind of thing I was concerned about from the start-"_

"_I've already laid one of your concerns to rest this afternoon. I'll deal with this one tomorrow morning when I can talk to Liz without any interruptions. But for the record, my current bureau chief wasn't even out of high school when Mrs. Creswell decided to climb through a bathroom window and become a fugitive. If nothing else, Liz has a right to charge the woman with that-"_

"_But Liz didn't take a leave from the bench to prosecute a C felony, did she Jack? She's going for murder two and if the evidence isn't there it's not going to reflect badly only on Liz."_

"_I said I'd deal with it in the morning."_

Even as she stood in Cohen's kitchen the next morning, Brooke could feel the same kind of chill she had the night before when McCoy's tone took on the hard edge of indifference that had signaled the end of any further discussion about Liz Donnelly or Caroline Criswell.

It was a tone that had not only cut Brooke to the quick, but wounded her pride enough that she had simply acknowledged McCoy's remarks with a curt nod, refusing to buy into the role of nagging shrew by reminding him of the plans they had made weeks before to go out to Ocean Beach for the day for brunch with Cohen and a much needed break from life in Manhattan.

"Oh come on sweetheart, it was hot and both of you were on edge. I'm sure when the AC is working again both of you will be ready to live and let live, as well as make some heat of your own."

"Yeah well, Jack tried that this morning and I told him to screw the light sock instead and leave me alone," she muttered under her breath as she handed him one of the drinks; realizing after seeing Cohen's eyebrows lift nearly to the top of his forehead that her comment had not gone unheard.

"Cutting your nose to spite your face there, boss," Cohen remarked with an exaggerated sigh. "When you cut Jack off, you cut yourself off as well and don't even try to tell me that you've been married long enough that you can lay beside that man and not want his hands all over you, whether it's 108 in the shade or minus eight in the sunshine."

"What I _want_ is his mind on what's best for himself, not what's best for everyone else, for a change."

Cohen shook his head as she moved past him and out the French doors that led to the courtyard. The last several months had seemed to give the couple a much needed lull after the whirlwind of events that had marked the beginning of married life for them. Once the crisis phrase of their union had cumulated with the loss of their unborn child, for a brief period, the tragedy seemed to bring the pair closer.

But as the transition from lovers to married couple continued, both Brooke and McCoy, seemed to struggle with the change. At first, Cohen had assumed the difficulties stemmed from the fact they were two strong willed people who had spend a good portion of their adult lives living alone. Add to the mix both husband and wife were relatively private people who had suddenly become public domain due to McCoy's position as DA and it seemed natural to Cohen that the pair had moments that were less than idyllic, even though they were little more than newlyweds.

But the fact Brooke had just admitted for the first time having turned her husband's affections, away sent up red flags in Cohen's mind that he couldn't ignore.

"Liz Donnelly and Caroline Criswell having nothing to do with what's really going on with you two, do they Brooke?"

Brooke set her glass down on the slate patio table as she turned from the picturesque view of the Long Island Sound and back to her friend. As good as the warm sea breeze felt on her skin, she knew it couldn't compare to Jack McCoy's touch.

Even as she made her childish attempt at pay back for McCoy's coldness the night before, Brooke almost immediately began to regret turning her husband away. But making love with Jack McCoy was something she had never been able to do half way. Given the fact her feelings were still stinging from their last scene, as much as she wanted her husband, giving herself to the man that had hurt her so recently seemed impossible at the time.

"Directly? No. But, Liz and the Criswell woman are two more examples of Jack playing with fire. Playing with political fire at a time when he refuses to get off the fence before it burns down around him."

"He's still hasn't filed the papers to get on the ballot?"

"Jake, he hasn't even gotten the first signature on the petition to run for DA," Brooke admitted, wearing a wry half-smile. "I know it's only July and it's Jack's decision whether to run or not, but I thought this had been decided months ago. That night at the beach house, when we decided to go public about the abortion… after all, Jack's son in law ran the article nearly three months ago in _Newsday…_ we bared our souls in a national magazine and now I wonder why. I mean, why put something so personal out there if he's not going follow through by even getting his name on the ballot?"

"And he hasn't told you what's holding him back?"

The sound of Brooke's bitter laugh made Cohen's heart go out to his friend all the more.

"You've got to be kidding. I'm just the woman he married last year. These days, the last thing Jack wants to talk to me about is the election. That's really why he got so pissy last night. He knew I was worried about what the Criswell case could do to his chances to win, if it turns out the case should have been dropped due to lack of evidence. He shut me down because he didn't want to hear it and quite frankly, I'm getting sick of being set up as the bad guy, almost as much as I'm sick of sitting on my thumbs waiting for Jack McCoy to single handedly figure out our destiny for the next four years."


	8. Liz and Jack

"You seem to have forgotten who's on trial here. Caroline Criswell is the defendant, me," the district attorney defensively retorted, only to find himself cut off by Donnelly's icy stare.

"Gee Jack, given the fact I just spent a half an hour having Olivia Benson read me the Riot Act for picking on poor little Linnie Malcolm aka Caroline Creswell," Donnelly shot back frostily while she calmly opened another of the numerous books on the table beside her. "Only to have you come waltzing in here next to tell me to amend the indictment, I was beginning to think_ I_ was the one everyone thought was the bad guy here. Apparently murdering your husband in cold blood while he sleeps warrants a slap in the wrist if you're over fifty and-"

"I never said you had to amend the indictment. I simply asked a question. An unreasonable act when I was married to you I know, but given the fact I _am_ your boss, at least for the moment-"

"You asked me a question you wouldn't have asked rookie ADA," Donnelly answered, ignoring the sarcasm in her ex-husband's voice, after slamming the book closed with a 'thud' that echoed through the walls of the deserted law library. "You asked me if _I'm sure_enough evidence to proceed with a murder charge against Caroline Criswell? Gee Jack if I didn't know you better, I'd think you were afraid I was going 'do a Donnelly' the second time around with this case."

"If I thought that, you wouldn't be prosecuting j-walkers, much less a high profile case that could cost me my job," shot back with enough gruffness to cause his ex-wife's eyes to widen in surprise.

"Jack, I- "

"I don't want to hear it," McCoy shot back while waving a dismissive hand at Donnelly attempt at appeasement. "What I want to hear is that the evidence supports a charge of murder two and not just your personal vendetta against the defendant. It's what I'd expect of any prosecutor in this office, our personal relationship notwithstanding."

"When I'm finished here, I'll leave you the case file and you can decide that for yourself, counselor."

Ignoring the tightness in her icy tone, McCoy curtly nodded before turning abruptly on his heel and returning to his own office.

Experience told him he could trust his instincts when it came to his ex-wife and her motives for charging Caroline Criswell with second degree murder. Not only had he oversaw Donnelly as Sex Crimes Bureau Chief, he'd trained her himself years before when she was his assistant. McCoy knew first hand that one of Donnelly's strengths was her ability to separate herself from a case. Yet, he couldn't ignore the validity of his current wife's concerns regarding the Criswell case.

As he sunk into the chair behind his desk, McCoy found himself pondering the concerns he'd impatiently dismissed the night before, weighing heavily on his mind.

He knew Brooke was right about the risk he was running to any re-election campaign he might be considering. If Donnelly was letting her personal agenda color her view of the case, it wouldn't be long before it came out in court. If it did and she lost, the local papers would have a field day linking their personal relationship to Donnelly's misguided attempt at pay back.

It would also be just the kind of thing Donald Shalvoy and his vultures would pounce on to give the governor a chance to pay back McCoy for not falling into line months earlier, during the Excalibur affair.

But worst of all was the fact that if the case didn't go her way, Donnelly would be risking her professional reputation for nothing.

"Enough. You either trust her to run with the case or you give it back to Greyleck," he told himself as he tried to shake his apprehension out of his head, before reaching for the pink message slip that had been blocking the current date in his day planner and swearing softly as his eyes fell on the corresponding notation of; _10:30 Brunch at Cohen's._

"Perfect. No wonder she told me to screw the light socket," he murmured after shifting his glance to his wristwatch and confirming the fact he was more than two hours late for the bunch plans he had made with his wife, nearly two weeks earlier.

"Sounds like you're getting it from all sides these days," Donnelly commented from the doorway, before gingerly moving to set the bulging brown file on his desk. "Probably not the best time for your Ex to be dumping on you, too."

"Listen Liz, I was out of line back there-"

"Maybe so, but the fact is you're going out on a limb for me. You have a lot to lose if I screw this case up. After what happened the first time, you have every right to second guess-"

"You had no way of knowing Criswell would climb out a window. A window that by all rights should have been secured by our own security people before Criswell was given access to it," McCoy said with a sigh before giving her the sheepish smile that silently signaled his own regret. "And for the record, the only thing I remember you 'screwing up' was that God awful meatloaf you made right after we got married."

Donnelly smiled at the memory of her first of many failed attempts at mastering the kitchen.

"Be that as it may, maybe you should take a look at the case file. A fresh eye never hurts. Besides, if I'm as good as you say I am I can gloat when you bring back the file and admit murder two is the only way to go if we want to get justice for the victim."

"Liz, I trust your judgment," he protested as he started to hand the file back to its owner, only to have Donnelly step out of his reach, firmly shaking her head.

"It's not about trust, Jack. It's about maintaining the appearance of impartiality."

"Fine. Happy now," McCoy asked as he reluctantly shoved the file under his arm and picked up the helmet that sat at the edge of the desk.

"Almost giddy."

"Good. One wife down, one to go," he answered before hastily heading out the door without further explanation.


	9. Sunday in the Park

"I appreciate the thought Jack but they'll just wilt, like everything else around here."

The double meaning of his wife's remark wasn't lost on Jack McCoy.

From the moment the notation on his office calendar had caught his eye, McCoy knew he was in serious trouble at home. Even as he bought his traditional 'forgive me' bouquet of green carnations, he knew the gesture was going to be too little too late.

Wordlessly he watched as his wife breathed in the sweet scent of the already drooping bundle of flowers, before carefully placing them on the shelf she'd rearranged in the refrigerator. After three trips down the aisle, McCoy knew forgetting an anniversary was one of the seven deadly sins of matrimony; he just wasn't quite sure how far behind it fell forgetting to help _plan _one's anniversary celebration.

Even though the air conditioning was out and it was the middle of July, McCoy knew the last thing his wife was talking about when she spoke of things wilting was the flowers.

After a weekend of putting out fires at the office, the last thing McCoy wanted to deal with was conflict on the home front. The eneveitable disharmony that went hand in hand with the 'domestic bliss' of marriage, was one of the reasons he'd so skillfully avoided another trip to the alter as long as he had.

As he waited for the other verbal shoe to drop, he found himself ever so fleetingly missing the solitude of the single life. The moment he looked up and found Brooke observing him as if she'd read his mind, he felt the guilty flush of heat on his cheeks .

"If you'd rather just avoid the whole party thing," she pensively declared. "Maybe it's just not worth the trouble of celebrating at all-"

"Of course it's worth celebrating. We agreed when we went up to Canada without any fan fare that we'd make up for it with a big anniversary party. I'm sure whatever you and Jake put together-"

"I married _you_, not Jake. Do you really think I'd plan a party to celebrate our marriage without your input," she demanded before reaching for the glass of tea beside her and running over her forehead. "Look Jack, we both know big parties were never your idea of a good time. It's not like the invitations have gone out…I was going to email everyone tonight…so that's not a problem. We can do something here just the two of us; that is if you're even around next Sunday. Should I assume Liz was able to prove me wrong about the Criswell case?"

"Liz is convinced the charge is appropriate and of course I'll be here for our wedding anniversary," he growled as a combination of the oven like heat in the room and the frustration he'd been fighting to conceal got the best of him. "If I hadn't promised you I'd talk to Liz about the case today, I wouldn't have forgotten about our plans and you'd know how much I-"

"Fine. It's my fault. Forgive me for giving a damn about you and your career. Tell you what Jack, the next time I'm worried about you I'll keep my mouth shut and just bake you a cake like a good little wife," Brooke interjected in a tone that was a kin to waving red in front of a charging bull.

It wasn't so much McCoy's forgetfulness about planning the party that made Brooke so blatantly try to provoke her husband, it wasn't even the dangers of the Criswell case. As Brooke watched McCoy's jaw tighten and his gaze harden in stubborn defiance, she knew the real reason for her frustration centered the waffling her husband had been doing for months regarding the upcoming election for District Attorney.

"If I wanted a cake I'd have married a baker," McCoy snapped as he dropped his satchel and helmet on the counter between them. "If I'd wanted to fight with you, I wouldn't have ran around Manhattan looking for a bouquet in triple digit weather," he continued before starting towards the bar on the opposite wall.

"And if I'd wanted to sit on the sidelines while my husband took the blows, I'd have married a boxer," Brooke countered while she watched her husband reach for an unopened bottle of scotch, only to find the inside of his hands so slick with sweat that opening the container quickly became a nearly impossible task. "It's too hot for this. Hell, it's too hot for anything other than ice creme."

As she reached for the shoulder bag that rested on the coat rack, Brooke gave her husband an inquiring gaze before moving to the doorway and motioning for him to follow her.

"Truce?"

888888888888888888888888888888888888888

As the couple walked from the loft to the ice creme vendor posted at the entrance to Central Park, the silence between them quickly became too burdensome for either of them to tolerate. Finally, McCoy cautiously inquired about one of the more controversial cases on his wife's caseload.

As he listened to his wife's equally guarded response, McCoy's could free his own frustration slowly dissolve as Brooke's impatience gave way to professional respect and she began to query McCoy regarding his views on the more difficult aspects of the case.

"You really think the Molineau exception applies here," Brooke asked as they inched forward while still keeping a prudent distance to ensure none of the other Manhattanites standing in line in front of the tiny stand would hear the taboo conversation.

"It applies as much as marital privilege does to this conversation," McCoy remarked, as if he'd read her thoughts. "Don't look so worried, counselor. Not only will citing Molineau get you a win in that motion hearing Monday, but trust me when I tell you your secrets will always be save with me, love."

Brooke looked up at him, both startled as well as relived, by his words. She knew the term of endearment was McCoy's way of signaling to her that as far as he was concerned, their emotional storm cloud had passed.

"Well, we both know it's no secret that our latest blow out didn't have a whole lot to do with you not being at Jake's this morning or you helping out Liz out by giving her the Criswell case," Brooke admitted as they stepped towards the man that was impatiently motioning to them with his ice creme scooper in hand.

McCoy gave her a wry smile before turning his attention to the vendor. Even as he'd begun to fire off his annoyed responses at the loft, McCoy had been well aware of what was at the heart of the heated exchange. The lack of AC and his earlier forgetfulness may have been what lit the fuse, but he knew the real issue on his wife's mind was his lack of action regarding the upcoming election.

Not that he blamed her.

Had he been the one waiting for his spouse to make a decision that profoundly affect both their personal and professional lives, McCoy would have given into frustration weeks earlier. But yet, as much as he knew a decision had to be made, he found himself hesitating to officially announce his intention to run for DA in the fall.

After the Lathem mess, the decision had seemed like a no brainer. McCoy knew if he threw in the towel the position would more likely than not go to some political hack who would put self interest before the interests of the DA's office and its staff.

Yet, the bad taste that had been left in his mouth after being introduced to the world of political fundraising by Melanie Carver hadn't been forgotten by the interim DA.

"One scoop or two," the tough faced Italian demanded while the scooper still hovered over the carton marked 'chocolate'.

"Two for both of us," McCoy responded without hesitation.

"Now, if only you could be that decisive about something a little more important than frozen creme, maybe the rest of us could get started on the job of getting you elected."

The couple turned in unison; McCoy taken off guard by the unexpected sound of his friend's voice behind him, Brooke startled by what seemed to be Danielle Melnick's ability to read her mind.

"Hello to you too, Danielle," McCoy gruffly retorted before turning his attention from the couple behind them and back to the vendor who still held the cones. "Given the fact the last time we had lunch you wouldn't even give the dessert cart a second glance, this is the last place I'd have expected to find you."

Brooke exchanged amused glances with the man beside the fiery defense attorney, before taking the cone her husband held out to her.

"'Friad I have to take the blame for Danielle breakin' her diet today," Sam Prescott explained as he traded places with McCoy. "In weather like this, there's nothin' that tastes sweeter than a few scoops of strawberry ice creme."

"So how about it, McCoy," Melnick pressed as she walked with Brooke and McCoy towards the last remaining empty bench. "Are you finally ready to put up or shut up?"

"The latter," McCoy countered before defiantly taking a lengthy lick from the already melting scoop of ice creme.

"Honestly Brooke, you've been married to him long enough to know what a stubborn jack-ass he can be, can't _you_ do something with him?"

"Running or not running for DA is Jack's decision. Nagging him won't make him decide any sooner,Danielle. Trust me, _that_ I know from bitter experience," Brooke added as she gave the other woman a knowing glance. "So what brings you and Sam into the city so late on a Sunday? With you two living out in Long Island, I'd have thought you be lying on a beach somewhere instead of sweating with us city dwellers."

"Believe me, that's where _I_ thought we'd be spending the day, but that new ADA Jack has down in Sex Crimes had other ideas," Melnick grumbled, before giving McCoy a look of grudging admiration. "You've really got a tiger on your hands this time, Jack. That Greyleck woman not only got me out here on a Sunday afternoon, she wouldn't back down until I got Allan Weyland to agree to her terms and to testify against his partner in the Castillo rape-"

"Greyleck got to Weyland," McCoy interjected, obviously impressed. "You told me yourself how solid your case was, why-"

"Seems your newbie wouldn't give Benson and Stabler a moment's peace until they went back to the scene with her for a second look. It was Greyleck herself that found a drop of blood the forensics team over looked…right below the towel rack in the john…it was all they needed to tie my guy to the rape," Melnick explained before pausing to take the cone her husband handed her. "I'm telling you Jack, if that girl can get a plea like that out of me, that old Criswell mess is going to be a no brainer for her."

"That doesn't come as any surprise to me. The lady not only came from Justice, Abbie Carmichael's been singing her praises since Ms. Greyleck accepted Jack's offer," Sam Prescott added while taking note of the clouded glances the McCoy's exchanged. "Well, you two look about as excited as a rabbit that's about to become dinner. What am I missin'?"

McCoy's uncomfortable gaze moved from his wife to the quickly browning grass that surrounded the bench. Even though it was common knowledge around the DA's office that Greyleck was off the Criswell case, explaining the reasons behind the sudden change in prosecutors to someone as contrary as Danielle Melnick, was the last thing the DA wanted to do. However, he knew from bitter experience trying to put off Danielle Melnick was like trying to break a blood hound of devouring raw meat, especially if she had her equally tenuous husband in her corner to back her up.

Knowing when he was beat, McCoy wearily started to speak, only to find himself cut off by his own spouse's unexpected reply.


	10. A Gentle Reprieve

"You didn't have to cover for me with Danielle."

"Are you saying you _wanted_to spent what is left of our weekend discussing your reasons for substituting Liz Donnelly for Kim Greyleck on the Criswell case,"Brooke McCoy inquired, as she sent the tennis shoe she had just removed sailing towards his husbands calf.

"Well no, but-"

"Instead of complaining, a simple 'thank you' will do."

"Who's complaining," Jack McCoy continued after catching the renegade shoe and setting it beside its mate as he joined his wife on the edge of the bed. "If you hadn't spoken up and told Danielle and Sam the AC was out at our place, we'd be back in that oven we call a home."

"Lucky for us Danielle hung on to her place when she and Sam moved out to Islip," Brooke replied before lying back on the bed.

"Lucky for us, Danielle's between tenants," McCoy agreed as the cool breeze coming from the bedroom vent reached the nape of his neck. "God, that feels good."

"Then, lay back and enjoy it. Danielle said we could camp out here until Wednesday morning. After that, it's back to the oven, unless the a miracle happens and the repair guy finishes on time."

McCoy nodded as he joined his wife and closed his eyes. He could feel his body relax as goose bumps began to form on his forearm and the worries of the day seemed to melt away. Instinctively assuming the fetal position, McCoy was half way to immediate slumber, when the feel of his wife's hand on his cheek, caused his body to stir and his eyes to open.

"Poor baby, you look exhausted."

McCoy stretched back out enough to gently pull Brooke to him. As he wordlessly cradled her in his arms, he pondered the question that had been left unanswered in the park. The question he knew was at the heart of his most recent disagreement with his wife, as well as the terse way he'd addressed Melnick in the park.

"You look beautiful," he whispered before meeting the amused look in her eyes with a rakish smile.

He could hear Brooke's faint chuckle as he covered her mouth with his. Her mirth was quickly replaced by a soft moan as her body moved closer to his. As he deepened the kiss, McCoy felt his own body respond to the increasingly seductive movements of his wife's body.

"Should I assume you're not mad at me anymore," McCoy inquired with his eyes following the hands that had opened the front of his shirt before carefully moving between cloth and skin.

"I'm the one that declared a truce in the first place, remember?"

"Always the bigger person, right," McCoy quietly teased before closing his eyes once more and savoring the feel of Brooke's curious fingers on his chest.

"Right. One of us has to at least _pretend_ to be a grown up."

McCoy silently smiled at his wife's smug tone. He found it hard to believe that it had only been a week since the combination of no air and the short fuses that came with it had brought their sex life to a screeching halt. The way his manhood strained against the confines of his jeans, it seemed as if months had gone by since McCoy had been intimate with his wife, instead of days.

"I suppose that was the spirit of your suggestion this morning," he snickered after Brooke swung a leg over to straddle him.

"Suggestion?"

"You remember love," McCoy persisted as his hands continued to methodically caress her back, before he suddenly pulled her to him and smoothly rolled on top of her. "You suggested I screw a light socket and stay the hell away from you."

"That was then, this is now," she replied with such matter-of-factness, both of them couldn't help but begin to chuckle.

McCoy was still laughing at the simplistic logic of his wife's last statement, when he felt Brooke's hand pressing his head down to meet her lips. Brooke's ability to match him toe to toe in any debate was something McCoy had always admired about his wife. But it was her ability to put her own stubborn pride aside in order to calm the troubled waters between them…even when they both knew full well she still believed herself to be in the right…that continued to intrigue him.

While some men would have erroneously interpreted Brooke's sudden compliance as a victory in their war of words, McCoy knew better. He had been with Brooke long enough to know it wasn't defeat of any kind that brought about her sudden show of affection. Since the abortion, McCoy had sensed the shift in her priorities. Her need to be right had been subtlety replaced by a growing need to stay close… both emotionally and physically… to him.

Often, McCoy was male enough enjoy without question the temporary reprieves when they came. But this time he couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt. A twinge that grew more insistent as his conscious reminded him of the reasons for this last blow up between them.

"Brooke."

"Jack," his wife playfully mimicked after he broke the kiss and she opened her eyes to find his soulful dark eyes inexpiably clouded.

"About today…the business with standing you up at Jake's…not to mention-"

"Forgiven and forgotten," she softly interjected, while she took the opportunity to finish removing his shirt. "Jake made a few suggestions about the anniversary party that I want to run by you, when we're through in here."

"Am I also forgiven for keeping you hanging about the next four years? About the election," he continued, with sudden seriousness that took his spouse completely off guard.

"Hey, it's your career, not mine," Brooke responded as let McCoy guide her back into a sitting position beside him; her husband immediately seeing through her not quite sincere attempt to keep the peace.

"Now say that as if you really mean it," McCoy countered as he gave her a knowing smile. "We share a life now. What I decide affects you every bit as much as it does me. No wonder your patience gave out today. If I hadn't been so damned selfish by shutting you out-"

"It's a hard decision. I know that, Jack. Maybe if I'd given you a wider berth…been more supportive… instead of pressuring you to announce-" she began, only to be silenced by the sound of her husband's soft laughter.

"I don't know which frustrates me more: When we fight to the death or when we fall all over ourselves to make amends…so much so that we never get back to resolving whatever the problem was to begin with."

"I don't know what frustrates me more, Jack," Brooke shot back, with mock seriousness. "When we fight to the death or when we finally start make up sex, only to have you get philosophical and decide that _now_ you want to open up and share your feelings, instead of-"

McCoy's smile deepened into a full blown grin before he slipped an arm around her shoulders while taking her hand in his to guide it down towards the prominent bulge between his legs.

"I hope that puts to rest any doubts you have as to my intentions for after I'm done 'sharing my feelings'", he confidently murmured, as his lips pressed against the back of her ear.

"So which is it, McCoy? Are you in or out," Brooke suggestively countered. "Of the election, that is."

"I have the petition sitting in my top desk drawer," he admitted with an uncharacteristically uncertain shrug.

"Can't win an election with it sitting there, Jack. But you know that. Look, something is holding you back. Something besides Donald Shalvoy…what is it, Jack?"

"You mean besides the fact I'm not a politician," he asked as he stood up.

"The voters don't want just another politician. They want someone that will give them justice and make the city seem safe."

McCoy nodded, as he stood and absentmindedly began to pace back and forth in the small space between the bed and the doorway. He knew she was right. He knew that was one of the reasons Arthur Branch had elected to fill the vacant Senate seat when it came up, instead of running for another term as DA.

"Maybe it's the general crap that comes with the job that is making me think twice about running," McCoy finally admitted before pausing in front of her to scan his wife's face for a sign of understanding. "Brooke, you know I loathe the social obligations that go along with the being DA. The glad handing, the benefits, not to mention the fundraising…all of it means wasting hours and hours with mindless conversations with people that are even more mindless… not to mention the 'grey areas' of corruption that are rotting the system from the inside out."

"Sounds you've got the weight of the world on those shoulders of yours," Brooke gently remarked as she stood and moved to where he stood.

McCoy thoughtfully watched as she carefully ran her hands up his bare chest on their way to his shoulder blades. He closed his eyes as her hands attempted to rub the tension from his body; nodding in silent agreement as he recalled how often the pressure of his new position had driven him to let his temper get the best of him, both at the office and at home, over the course of the last few months.

"Doesn't justify taking it out on you, love," he whispered before taking her hands in his as he opened his eyes. "I told you months ago I was going to run. You had every right to expect me to follow through, instead of putting you off every time you wanted to talk about fund raising or getting Adam to endorse my-"

"Stop it Jack. We were both wrong. My motives weren't always so pure and noble. I hate sitting on the sidelines, especially when we're talking something or someone that directly affects my life. The bottom line is you are dealing with an imperfect system, run by imperfect people. Your running or not running isn't going to change that."

"True. But not running leaves the office wide open for someone even less perfect than myself to make a run for it...someone that will probably be in Shalvoy's pocket."

Brooke sympathetically sighed at the torment she saw in her husband's face. As much as she'd wanted to clear the air about the election once and for all, she still hated to see her husband in such obvious turmoil. The concerns he had voiced that night hadn't come as a surprise to her. Many of them she heard before. Others, she had worried would come to the surface as the election grew closer.

As McCoy pressed her close, Brooke found herself thinking of the day Jack McCoy had been appointed DA. At the time, the pair were little more than casual acquaintances, thrown together due to a twist of fate after Diana Hawthorne's and Samantha Weaver's joint effort to discredit McCoy went terribly wrong.

Even then, Brooke could sense McCoy's apprehensiveness about taking the job. She remembered the afternoon his appointment had been announced…her trip to his office where a celebration had been in full swing. It was also the day they shared their first kiss.

At the time, Brooke had assumed McCoy's uncharacteristically amateurish attempt at seduction was due to too much celebrating and the expected adrenaline rush that came with being asked to accept the highest post a prosecutor could hold in the city. Turning her husband's last remark over in her mind, Brooke suddenly realized how wrong she had been that day.

"You never wanted the job at all, did you Jack? You were trying to protect the office all along, weren't you?"

"All along?"

"You were drunk …the day Branch officially announced your appointment…that day in the conference room…"

McCoy stepped back from her enough to study his wife's face. His look of puzzlement melted into a look of amusement when he realized where his wife's remarks were headed.

"You yourself said I was a stupid drunk that day," he teased as he thought about the first time he'd made a play for the woman who would eventually become his wife.

"_That isn't champagne I smell on your breath is it," Brooke asked; shaking her head as she stood up and stepped away from him. "It's hard liquor, on what I'll bet is an empty stomach."_

_"I didn't realize you were a member of the Suffolk county temperance society, "McCoy dryly retorted._

_"That's just stupid, "she said ignoring his remark."More than stupid, for a man in your position."_

"_If I'm a stupid drunk, then I guess I can't be held accountable for my actions can I, counselor," he said suggestively as he leaned down._

"_Ya know what? Why don't you call me after you've had some lunch," she said turning towards the door to skillfully maneuver herself out of his reach._

"_You said something the last time I saw you - something about being afraid to love again," he said, knowing what her reaction would be._

_As she swing around to face him, McCoy reached out placing a hand behind her head as his lips tenderly brushed hers. He didn't know which surprised him more: The brief moment he felt her respond to his kiss, the force in the slap across his face or the feel of the side arm holstered on her left side._

"_Damn it Jack, "she said her voice cordial. "See what you made me do? Now you're gonna have to figure out how to explain that hand print to the press."_

"You certainly were a handful that day."

"Yeah, look whose talking," Brooke snickered. "I thought you were just being reckless…reckless because you'd celebrated on an empty stomach. I wasn't close enough to you to be able to figure it out then. But, I am now," she continued, with sudden seriousness. "You weren't 'celebrating' your appointment. You were drowning your sorrows, weren't you? You were playing gatekeeper that day, just like you will be if you file that petition, right Jack?"

The look on McCoy's face was reminiscent of the look a child wears when they've been caught red handed in some kind of wrong doing.

"You're falling back into old habits, love. I'm not selfless," McCoy half heartedly protested. "Don't fool yourself into thinking I haven't enjoyed the taste of power I've been offered these last few months."

"A taste you never asked for and weren't jumping up and down to accept," Brooke gently reminded him as she took his hand before moving back to the bed. "That's why you haven't circulated that petition yet. Whether you want to believe your motives are pure or not Jack, we both know the last thing you want is for one of Shalvoy's political hacks running the DA's office."

"There is always the possibility that Shalvoy will get enough pressure from the law enforcement groups in this state that he'll be forced to back a candidate that is actually qualified to be DA," McCoy countered as they sat down.

The look in his wife's eyes told him she was more than a little skeptical… and feeling he himself felt as well. But it was what he'd been hoping for ever since his last go around with the governor.

McCoy had seen too many DA's try to dodge too many political bullets, fired by too many political enemies, too many times not to know his chances of being able to effectively do his job _and _win re-election were slim to none at best. Yet he reasoned, if a candidate emerged… someone with both a moral backbone and the experience to get the job done without having to rely on the endorsement of Donald Shalvoy to get him on the ballot… then he could decline to run for DA and still be able to sleep at night.

"Maybe it's time for you to try out your considerable powers of persuasion on your old friend Ben Stone," McCoy joked as he smiled weakly at his wife. "I doubt even Shalvoy has a shovel that could dig deep enough to find anything that could bury Ben the Noble. I bet Adam Schiff would be the first in line to offer Ben his endorsement-"

"It's a nice fantasy Jack, but Ben's no more likely to disrupt the life he's built than you are to walk away from Donald Shalvoy without giving him the fight of his life."

"I'm tired, Brooke," he wearily admitted as he lay back on the cool bedclothes and closed his eyes. "Maybe that's a sign it's high time I stop tilting at windmills. We have a new grandchild, not to mention a new marriage. Maybe we'd both be better off if I appreciated those things a little more, instead of obsessing about Donald Shalvoy and a career that's already cost me two marriages and my daughter's childhood."

Brooke sighed as she took her place beside him. A mixture of understanding and regret filled her when she gazed up at him. She understood that it was one thing for a man like McCoy to dirty his hands when a conviction was at stake…the prosecutors faithful security blanket of pursuing justice often served to rationalize the ends justifying the means…but it was quite another thing to get down in the mud for the personal gain that came with winning an election, no matter how selfishless the reasons may have been for entering the race at the start.

The regret came from the realization that what McCoy needed more than ever was her support and patience, instead of what she saw as her petty display of anger and disappointment earlier that day.

"I think we both could do with a little appreciation, right about now," she said as she ran a hand gently over his chest and looked into the dark eyes that were watching her with renewed interest. "That is, if you're not too tired?"


	11. Jack & the Prince of Darkness

The following afternoon, Executive Assistant District Attorney Mike Cutter glanced up from the file he had been perusing in an attempt to busy himself while his boss finished his phone call. Cutter's growing amusement betrayed itself when his lips turned upward after hearing McCoy's uncharacteristically humble reply to his wife's latest query.

"Whatever you say… Brooke, if raspberry filling makes you happy, it makes me happy too," McCoy continued before shooting his subordinate a glance that, while meant to intimidate the younger man, only served to deepen Cutter's smirk. "Look Cutter's waiting, so maybe we could finish this tonight?...No, no don't bother. I have left over Chinese from lunch. There's plenty for two… Fine. I should be home before nine. Alright Mike, you had your fun. You can cut the wiseass now and fill me in on how Connie's fishing expedition upstate went," the older man barked after placing the receiver back in its cradle.

"Whatever you say," Cutter deadpanned as he handed the file to his less than amused boss. "Although, there won't be much to tell until she gets back from Dargerville."

"She has checked in though?"

McCoy never had liked sending an assistant into uncharted territory. Especially when he didn't feel the spirit of cooperation was forthcoming from his counterpart in another jurisdiction. Although he knew Rubirosa was capable of handling any legal hurdle that Dargerville Sheriff John Burkhart might try to throw at her, McCoy couldn't help but find comfort in knowing his ADA had the backup of two of Anita Van Buren's detectives at her disposal.

"About an hour ago. She and the detectives were about to drive out to see that Deputy...Linz," Cutter responded as he nodded as the phone on McCoy's desk buzzed.

"Sounds like they must have gotten a late start."

"More like the run around from Burkhart and his flunkies."

"Keep me posted," McCoy remarked as he reached for his phone. "Jack McCoy." Cutter rose to leave, only to hear McCoy greet his assistant. Curious as to what Rubirosa had found it in such a short amount of time; Cutter lingered in front of his boss's desk. His curiosity turned to alarm when McCoy's eyes widened and his boss shot him a sharp glance as he motioned for Cutter to sit down. "What's the charge?... I'll send a check for bail with Mike. He'll be on the next train out… It's not the case I'm worried about right now. Connie, you're sure you're all right?"

"Jack, what's going on," Cutter demanded while his mind rifled through possible explanations for the remarks made on McCoy's end of the conversation. Each scenario that played through his mind, striking more panic into his heart, than the last.

"Burkhart arrested Lupo when Connie tried to interview Linz," McCoy impatiently explained, his tone reflecting the outrage the DA was unsuccessful trying to hold at bay. "Get on that gadget of yours and find out when the next train to Dagerville leaves. While you make your reservation, I'll be ripping the DA up there a new one."

888888888

"Sit down, Jack. I can't tell you how surprised I was when my secretary told me you were on your way up."

"I can imagine," McCoy quietly remarked as he settled into the soft leather of the chair that faced the man that who recently gone from friend to foe. "I think we both know I wouldn't be here if I didn't have to be."

"Still looking down at me from your mountain of principles," Shalvoy quipped with feigned pain. "If you weren't here looking for favors, the view from up there might be more inviting. However, looking down at me from such an idyllic view might not be the best way for you to get what you're after."

"Obviously, you've been talking to Tom Hendricks out in Fulton County," McCoy continued without acknowledging the Governor's sarcasm. "Donald, no matter what differences you and I may have, threatening one of my ADA's and then arresting a NYPD detective when he assists her is unacceptable and you know it."

"The way Tom's ADA tells it, your ADA was harassing an off duty sheriff."

"The way Tom's ADA tells it or the way Sheriff Burkhart told him to tell it to Tom," McCoy countered.

Shalvoy's sharp glance told McCoy he'd managed to get the governor to start thinking beyond the fact that the DA knew too much about his 'personal business' and to consider the ramifications of McCoy's words.

"You really think the sheriff up there is involved in some kind of cover up?"

McCoy pondered the briefing Cutter and Rubriosa had given him on the case against Dianne Cary, just days earlier. Even without the reservations the pair had voiced, McCoy's gut told him something didn't add up about a state trooper teaching a suspected rape victim how to shoot a gun, just weeks after she'd been attacked.

Adding the resistance Rubirosa and the detectives had gotten earlier that day only convinced the DA even more that something was amiss.

"It's a murder investigation, Donald. I wouldn't have had Cutter send his assistant up there if I thought I we were sending her on a wild goose chase. If my people are right and corrupt law enforcement officers in Dargerville _are_ involved in this murder and it gets out that the governor had an opportunity to shut them down and he did nothing, well…as you've mentioned to me more than once… this_ is_ an election year," McCoy bluntly reminded the other man. "I guess the voters will have to draw their own conclusions."

"Jack, is that supposed to be some kind of threat," the governor asked as he eyed McCoy as if he were seeing him for the first time.

"Just a statement of fact," McCoy replied while meeting Shalvoy's unwavering gaze with one of his own. "Nothing more; nothing less."

Shalvoy continued to scare while he considered the other man's words. After what to McCoy seemed like an eternity, the governor's lips slowly turned upward.

"It's thinking like that, that made me support you for _Interim_DA," Shalvoy said as he nodded in silent understanding. "All right Jack. Give me an hour and you're people will have access to whatever they need in Dargerville."

"I appreciate it Donald," McCoy replied as he stood, only to have Shalvoy motion for him to take his seat.

"You know Jack, the primary's are just around the corner."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning, I'm about to announce my endorsement for one of the candidate's that's planning to run for your job."

Given the fact both men knew McCoy had yet to announce his own candidacy, the governor's unspoken message was heard loudly and clearly by the acting DA.

"I have a train to catch," McCoy remarked as he returned to his feet.

"For God's sake Jack, when are you going to give it up," Shalvoy demanded. "Either admit defeat or make it official and throw your hat in the ring."

The sound of exasperated amusement in the other man's voice was enough to take McCoy off guard long enough to trigger a spontaneous response from the DA.

"Why? So you can officially try to kick it into the gutter."

Shalvoy smiled a surprisingly sincere smile as McCoy silently swore.

He knew the gruffness of his tone was enough to alert the younger man to the disillusionment he still felt whenever he encountered the man who not only betrayed McCoy but the voters, when he involvement with the Excalibur Escort service was revealed.

It was bad enough Shalvoy had betrayed his wife by sleeping around with paid escorts. Badder still that he had tried to keep McCoy silent about not only his dealings with the escort service by throwing a little dirt the DA's way by using McCoy's name during one of his illicit encounters. But the thing that outraged McCoy the most was how his former benefactor had nearly allowed his dirty little secret to hinder the prosecution of a murderer.

"I'll declare my candidacy when if I decide I'm running for a full term," McCoy continued, before striding towards the door, only to be stopped by parting observation by the governor.

"Don't you think you're getting a little too old to be playing Hamlet, Jack?"

McCoy swung around just after opening the heavy wooden door and briefly pondered the younger man's words, before he smiled himself.

"That may be true, Donald. But with age comes wisdom. I may be too old to play Hamlet, but at least I'm wise enough to know I'm too old to be playing Romeo, with anyone besides my wife."


	12. The Jury's Out

"You had Rubirosa nearly manhandled, Lupo cooling his heels in a small town jail, and Cutter dashing up to Dargerville to save the day before you decided to leave me hanging and take that call from Jack. So what happened," Jake Cohen demanded the moment Brooke closed her cell phone.

While the initial purpose for meeting at _Teller's _had been to grab a quick lunch between their prospective court appearances and iron out the final details for the anniversary party Cohen was throwing for his best friend and her spouse, the conversation almost immediately went off course the moment Brooke started to respond to her companions seemly benign question: 'What's new with Jack?'

"Since we both have to be back at the courthouse in forty five minutes, I'll skip over the ass chewing Jack gave the DA up there. By the time he shot up to Albany and met with the Prince of Darkness, Cutter had managed to convince a judge to let Lupo go and –"

"Back up. The Prince of Darkness…Shalvoy? Jack met with Shalvoy?"

"Yep," Brooke continued between bites of her chef salad. "And he's been acting oddly ever since."

"Oddly?"

"Oddly."

"Oddly, as in having conversations with dead people, kind of oddly?"

"Oddly, as in not only has he completely cleared his schedule for this Saturday so we can both help you set up for the party, he's walking around looking like the cat who caught the canary."

"And when you call him on it?"

"He gives me that goofy grin of his, kisses me and gets cryptic on me."

"Cryptic," Cohen mused.

"Cryptic."

"Cryptic as in-"

"Don't start that again, Cohen," she snapped as she held up a hand.

"Then stop giving me the bare bones and put some meat on them," Cohen shot back as he stabbed the last piece of steak on his plate with his fork.

"Fine. A perfect example of what I'm talking about is the way he acted when he got back from Albany," Brooke explained. "The next morning, Jack was working on the paperwork for his candidacy . Of course, when he realized I was standing behind him, he stuffed it all back into his briefcase."

"And?"

"And when I asked him about it, he just grinned and asked me if I prefer Romeo or Hamlet."Brooke nodded when Cohen squinted at her, as if unable to comprehend her words. "That's what I call cryptic. At least, I_ hope_ he's just being cryptic, instead of the alternative."

"Which is?"

"The conversation goes from running for DA to Shakespeare, for no apparent reason? If he's not being cryptic, maybe the job's finally gotten to him and he's losing his grip on reality," Brooke deadpanned.

"Married a year and you've managed to turn the Wolf of Hogan Place into a candidate for pre-Alzheimer's treatment? I think not," Cohen shot back as he chuckled. "No, he's being cryptic alright. Romeo and Hamlet…sounds like he's up to something. Leaving you bread crumbs as food for thought to lead you… where," Cohen pondered. "Humm… maybe he's planning on taking you to see Shakespeare for your anniversary present?"

Brooke shook her head.

"I thought the same thing and checked the Net. The nearest theater doing any Shakespeare is in Buffalo and _they're_ doing _The Taming of the Shrew_. Not exactly anniversary material in my book," Brooke remarked wryly. "But I agree. He's up to something. Maybe something related to our anniversary, but I can't figure out what."

"Speaking of your anniversary," Cohen began as he impatiently tapped the Rolex on his wrist. "Everything's set on my end. I confirmed the band after I spoke the party planner this morning. She's waiting on you for a final count on the RSVP's."

"I know, I know. I'll call her while we walk back to court. I checked my email again before I left the office. The only people I haven't heard from are Liz Donnelly and Don Cragen. That's what Jack was calling about. Liz is giving her closing for the Criswell case this afternoon, so Jack said to just add them to the 'coming' list and he'll check with her when she's done in court."

Cohen nodded as he reached for his wallet upon seeing the approaching waiter.

"Well, at least you'll know one way or another, soon enough," he remarked as he glanced at the check.

"I'm not worried. The cost of two more entrees isn't going to break the bank."

Cohen shot Brooke a savvy glance as he paid the bill.

"It's not the cost of two more for dinner that I was referring to and you know it."


	13. The Judge Pleads Guilty

There seemed to be no escape from the barrage of reporters waiting for Elizabeth Donnelly to exit the courtroom. A court officer tipped Donnelly off to the fact that the press was waiting for her, not only outside the packed room, but all of the building exits, including the one reserved for Judges and other court personnel.

Unable to make a graceful exit from the building, Donnelly methodically pushed her way through gauntlet of blinding flash bulbs and shouted questions from the courtroom to the elevator, uttering a string of 'no comments' as she did so.

By the time she found herself securely behind the safety of the heavy metal doors of the elevator, Donnelly's normally indifferent facade was on the brink of crumbling. Once the doors closed, she found herself blindly staring at the panel in front of her; unsure as to which button to press; completely at a loss as to where she wanted to crawl off to in order to lick the wounds she'd received just minutes before.

With reporters scoping out every exit, Donnelly knew she had no choice other than to remain in the courthouse until the press was finished with Caroline Criswell and her elated defense attorney. On one hand, that reality made her feel like a trapped rat. On the other, she knew the longer she stayed at the courthouse, the longer she could put off facing the detectives that had believed in Criswell from the start, as well as avoid the man that was not only their captain, but her lover.

But even more comforting was the thought she had a momentary reprieve from returning to Hogan Place and facing Jack McCoy.

As she stared at the buttons Donnelly couldn't decide which was worse. The fact she'd allowed herself to be so blinded by her own sense of betrayal by Criswell that she'd almost sent a battered woman to prison for doing nothing more than breaking under the strain of being abused or the way she'd arrogantly ignored the risk she was taking with not only her own career, but the careers of other people involved in Criswell's prosecution…the career of a DA already targeted by a vengeful governor who would happily take Donnelly's defeat and twist it into something sure to destroy any chance Jack McCoy might have at being elected to a full term as DA.

"Oh God," she whispered as she started to fall back against the metal wall, only to snap to attention and automatically hit the button marked '4'… the floor her chambers were located on …when the metal doors began to re-open.

Day had turned to night when Donnelly heard a heavy tap on the locked door to her chambers that startled her out of an unplanned slumber, back into reality.

Donnelly stared at the thin bit wedge of light crept between the floor and the bottom of the door. Knowing the last thing she wanted at that moment was company, she sat paralyzed at her desk in the darkness, determined to wait out whatever intruder was on the other side of the door.

As she stared, she ran a hand through her hair and found herself wondering how long she'd been a sleep.

Although the room was dark, save for the light from the door, she could make out the outline of her cell phone. It was then that she remembered the reason for her unexpected slumber.

Just when she'd thought she'd found a safe haven from probing eyes and demanding questions, her phone had rung. The only thing that had kept her from letting the call go to voice mail was the fact the call ID showed it was her daughter on the other line.

Given the fact Rebecca McCoy-Henning was a new mother, Donnelly was hesitant to let the call go to voice mail, so reluctantly she had opened the phone, an act that had led to a forty five minute conversation with her daughter that had quickly reminded the judge of the verbals her only child had inherited from both of her parents.

The directness that had been a trademark of Rebecca's since birth had left Donnelly in a state of enough despair for her to have shut the device off and dug through her desk until she found the bottle of half used sedatives she'd gotten from her doctor when she began her judgeship.

"Liz, Becky called and told me where you were," a not unfriendly voice explained on the other side of the door. "Please, open the door."

Donnelly could feel her cheeks grown warm, when she realized Jack McCoy was on the other side of the door.

McCoy gave his ex-wife a crooked smile after she finally opened the door. Even before receiving an unexpected call from his daughter, McCoy had been made aware of the outcome of the Criswell case by one of his ADA's who had been in court that afternoon. The moment he had heard Criswell's reasons for running, McCoy knew how his ex-wife had to have reacted.

"Jack, I don't know what to say."

"Maybe you should start with 'come in'," McCoy gently teased before slipping past her.


	14. The Truth Comes Out

Donnelly sighed and watched as McCoy moved towards her desk.

"I was planning to tell you myself," she began, after closing the door. "But with the reporters…and then the interrogation I got from Becky…I just needed a chance to –"

"We both know our girl's headstrong, to say the least. Liz, I didn't come down here to finish what Becky started," McCoy explained, after taking a seat in front of the desk. "You forget. I was around the first time. Becky wasn't."

Donnelly grimaced. She remembered only too well the strain the Criswell trial had put on the relationship between herself and her new husband. They'd been married just barely two months when Caroline Criswell had been charged with the murder of her husband of eight years. Donnelly hadn't even begun to get a handle on her new role as the wife of up and coming prosecutor, Jack McCoy. The idea of dealing with a new baby on top of that was almost more than the young wife could fathom.

"Maybe not, but she's right. I was so hell bent to send that woman to prison; I never even stopped to consider…She said she needed to talk to me, Jack. About something only I could help her with. It never occurred to me that Criswell had raped her. Raped her and got her pregnant…," Donnelly said almost to herself, as she leaned against the office door.

"All you knew about Caroline Creswell was that she had committed murder. You had no way of knowing the rest of it, Liz."

Donnelly shook her head as she closed her eyes. Silently she replayed the cross examine that had taken place only hours before. She could hear her own voice… her cool, level, confident tone… as she led Criswell through a series of questions carefully designed to take the woman back to the day she had executed her escape.

Donnelly took her back… back to the night her husband had supposedly raped her… an event the fragile looking woman had neglected to report to the homicide detectives that discovered Criswell had shot her husband with his own gun as he slept.

"_If it was self-defense, then why did you run," Donnelly smoothly demanded before turning to face the jury, as if she were posing the question to the twelve transfixed individuals in the jury box, as she went in for the kill. "Why didn't you tell the detectives on the scene or your lawyer or –"_

"_I didn't think anyone would believe me," the tearful defendant declared. "I tried to get away…I'd saved almost enough money to leave…but he found the grocery money I'd been hiding. He, he told me I had to be selling myself to have that kind of money."_

_Donnelly turned back to eye the woman with the tear streaked face skeptically. She listened indifferently to a variation of a scenario she'd heard countless times during her time in the D.A.'s office …sometimes true... sometimes not so true…_

"…_he did every vile, degrading thing he could think of to me," Criswell soft voice told Donnelly; their eyes locking on each other's as if they were the only two people in the room. "When he was finished I was crying and he told me to be quiet, so he could sleep. He, he said he knew I liked it and …. if I was a good girl…he'd do it again. That's when I knew," Criswell continued; her voice rising for the first time since Donnelly had begun to grill her. "That's when I knew, he'd never stop. The only thing that gave him pleasure was hurting me!"_

"_So you sought revenge by-"_

"_No! It wasn't like that," Criswell pleaded as her eyes locked onto Donnelly's. "Killing him was wrong. I knew that as soon as I realized what I had done. I, I just wanted to make it stop…to make him stop…"_

"_If you knew it was wrong, then why did you run," Donnelly said; taking care to ask as opposed to demand, in an effort the prosecutor felt confident would back Criswell into a corner build on the defendants own lies._

"_To get an abortion!"_

_As Criswell revealed her desire to 'take what was coming to her' by serving out whatever sentence she was given for the murder of her husband, but only after she had terminated the pregnancy she couldn't bear to continue, Donnelly listened transfixed by the details of a story not even she could doubt the validity of, as well as the horrifying realization of why the woman had been so desperate to talk to her all those years before._

"Liz, beating yourself up like this isn't going to change the fact you're not a mind reader. She climbed out a bathroom window and ran. You had no idea what was going through her mind."

The sound of her ex-husband's voice brought Donnelly back to reality. When she opened her eyes and found McCoy's eyes on her. The look of genuine concern they held only served to renew her sense of shame.

"I may not have been a mind reader, but you and I both know, Caroline and I were of like minds back then," Donnelly replied so softly, McCoy found himself moving forward, simply to be sure he was indeed hearing her correctly. "If anyone should have known… if anyone should have understood what she was feeling... it was me."

Donnelly watched as a flicker of, what she assumed was annoyance, clouded the eyes she knew so well. She turned her eyes downward, in anticipation of the silent judgment that she felt sure was to come.

Even after so much time had passed…after not only making a name for herself in the DA's office, but in the judiciary as well, Donnelly easily recalled how panic struck she was when she learned of her own pregnancy. She had just had convicted the Eastside Rapist. It was the case that had at long last established her as more than a pretty face…more than Jack McCoy's former assistant.

It was the case she felt sure she'd be able to ride to a position of Bureau Chief or even to a permanent position in the Homicide Bureau. But fate played what she saw as an unforgivable trick on her and she found herself pregnant just weeks after becoming a bride.

It was pregnancy, that like Criswell's was very much unplanned and at the time, very much unwanted.

"I'll tell you what I know …what we both know, Elizabeth," McCoy continued firm and certain, as he lifted her chin. "You're a survivor, not a victim. You're not Caroline Criswell."

"But I felt every bit as trapped as she did," Donnelly countered in a voice so uncharacteristically filled with emotion, McCoy found himself instinctively reaching for her. "Jack, when I found out…when I knew for sure… there was no going back. I never felt so alone, so-"

"And maybe if you'd had a husband that had shown a little more understanding instead of just expecting you to be a thrilled as he was, you might have felt you had someone to lean on."

Donnelly blinked back tears and she stared up into the eyes that startled her with their look of remorse.

"Jack, you were never the sadistic monster Criswell was. I was wrong to put the blame on you. I was young. I was selfish. I-"

"You love our daughter and you always have," he injected with as much firmness as the embrace he pressed her into. "That's what you have to think about, Liz. That and what you want to do when the verdict comes back in the morning."


End file.
